Gangs of London
by Apollo888
Summary: Decisions in the past and surprises in the present shaped their future into something completely unexpected. The Crawley family in present day, living a rather different life where money and excess rule everything and secrets abound. A Mary and Matthew modern AU saga.
1. Chapter 1

" _The gambling known as business looks with austere disfavour upon the business known as gambling." – Ambrose Bierce_

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2014**

"William, I need the front cleared immediately. Lady Mary is ten minutes away," Anna said into her headset, her heels clicking across the polished floor as she headed to the elevator.

"Yes, Miss Smith," came the reply in her ear. "Is Lady Mary arriving in the Bentley or the Mercedes today?"

"The Bentley," Anna replied, hitting the button several times to call the elevator. "He's going to just stop in front to drop her off and be on his way, but I want the kerb clear and the ropes in place all the way to the elevator. If we have a repeat of the coffee incident again, I'll have your ass, William."

"Yes, Miss Smith," William croaked out nervously. "We'll be ready."

"Good. Thank you, William," Anna said pleasantly, ending the call and stepping into the elevator. She hugged her tablet across her chest and took a deep breath as the doors closed.

"Please let her be in a good mood," she whispered.

* * *

"I don't fucking care if it's 4 a.m. over there! Tell him that I want to speak to him right this instant," Mary hissed, glancing out the window as the black saloon car crept through traffic past Green Park. "It isn't as if he's asleep, so it's hardly an interruption."

Mary smoothed her hair away from her headset with one hand and glared at her mobile phone held in the other, as though she could command the lackey on the other end of the line to do her bidding through sheer force of will.

"I'm s-so sorry, Miss Crawley," came the frightened answer. "He says he's busy with a game right now and doesn't have time to talk. He also says that he's not mad at you. He blames Mr. Crawley for what happened."

"I am not 'Miss', thank you. I'm Lady Mary Crawley," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "Please tell him that I understand his feelings towards Patrick probably better than anyone else in the world. I would much rather see him at his usual table when he arrives here in October and not have to meet him in a stuffy courtroom. There's a way to sort all of this out amicably but it requires that I speak with him directly."

Mary waited as she heard the flunky relay her message.

"He says that he would love to talk to you in about an hour. Can he call you?" the faceless assistant asked timidly.

"Yes, certainly," Mary smiled, putting her phone back in her Hermès bag. "Tell him that I look forward to speaking to him."

"He says 'likewise', Lady Mary," the assistant answered.

Mary touched her headset and hung up the call without another word. She sighed and shook her head as the Bentley turned on to Curzon Street.

"Shall I wait, Lady Mary?" the chauffeur asked.

"No, thank you, Taylor," Mary said. "I'll be a while. I'll probably end up walking home."

"Yes, ma'am," Taylor nodded.

The Bentley pulled up to the familiar white building, the burgundy flag hanging proudly over the entrance. William stepped forward and opened the car door. Mary stepped out on to the pavement and nodded to Anna standing by dutifully.

"Any reporters?" Mary asked curtly as they passed through the doors being held open for them and into the building.

"None inside, no," Anna said. "The Daily Mail and the Guardian called but I told them that you were in Mallorca for the week. I said if we decided to release a statement, they'd be the first to know."

"That won't stop them, though I wish I really was in Mallorca," Mary rolled her eyes as she took off her sunglasses. "Phil's going to call in an hour. I'm hoping to talk him into dropping his lawsuit if we agree to pay him half his winnings."

"That's almost £4 million. Do you think he'll go for it?" Anna asked as they reached the elevator.

"Not a chance," Mary said sadly as they stepped inside. "But hopefully we can begin negotiating and that will delay the trial and keep the story out of the papers. Papa won't agree to pay him a penny more than half, which is ridiculous, but those are my instructions."

"What does Mr. Patrick say about all this?" Anna asked as the elevator opened on the office level and they walked out.

"I couldn't care less," Mary said dismissively. "I suppose he didn't bother coming in again today?"

"No," Anna shook her head. "We haven't seen or heard from him in over a week."

"Typical," Mary scoffed. She glanced over at Patrick's empty office and shook her head. "If he spent as much time doing his actual job as he did chasing sluts and snorting coke, we all could retire at a young age."

Anna smiled and remained silent.

"Call Edith and ask her to track him down. I don't want him to do anything stupid like try and talk to Phil. I can't clean up yet another one of his messes if he keeps interfering," Mary said.

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded.

"Anna, what did I tell you?" Mary frowned.

"Yes, Mary," Anna winked, turning away and heading off to her desk.

Mary walked into her office and put her bag down on one of the chairs. Easing into her chair and waking up the two computer monitors, she perused her email inbox and opened several files in preparation for Phil's call. This was such a waste of her time – dealing with one of Patrick's problems that she had nothing to do with. She had her own work to focus on, particularly the ambitious expansion proposal that she wanted to talk to her father about. It was hard enough to catch Robert Crawley in a good mood, and with the trial looming in less than two months' time, he was even more surly and indignant than usual.

Mary opened the most current cash report and smiled as she went over the numbers. Well, at least there was some good news for her today. They expected that the last quarter had been good, but this was beyond even her most optimistic projections. Perhaps she could lead with that when she spoke to Papa. Put him in a better mood by telling him how much money they'd made so far before turning to what she truly wanted.

She did some quick calculations, wondering whether the numbers would be enough to convince him. She knew that her Papa would listen to Patrick more readily, or even the advice of Murray, the family's lawyer. Anything that Mary presented was subject to far more scrutiny. It had been that way since she was a young girl and she stopped being angry or indignant over it long ago. She expected it now; she always had to do better because she was Lady Mary Crawley, the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter, and a woman in a male-dominated industry. Her youngest sister Sybil was usually bemoaning the unfair double standard. Mary saved her breath and just got on with being better than everyone else.

Mary looked up at the sound of Anna knocking on the glass door.

"Mary, I'll have to reschedule your call," Anna said. "I rang Taylor and he's on his way back."

"What? Why?" Mary asked in annoyance. "It took a great deal of effort just to set up this one call, Anna. I should hate to have to go through all of that again. Is whatever it is truly important?"

"I just spoke with Lady Edith," Anna said, swallowing nervously.

"And? Did she find Patrick?" Mary asked.

"Yes, she did," Anna nodded, looking at Mary with wide eyes.

"And?" Mary asked impatiently. "Where's he pissed off to now?"

"Mary, he's dead."

 **Executive Box, Sir Alex Ferguson Stand, Old Trafford, Manchester, England, August 2014**

The server walked briskly down the quiet hallway, turned sharply and went into the kitchen, the door closing behind her with a firm click. The large room was buzzing loudly with staff calling out to each other, pots and pans clanging around and dishes being moved about the stainless steel counters. The football match between the home side, Manchester United, and the visiting team, Swansea City, was due to start in an hour, and the rich patrons in the fancy luxury suites needed to be fed.

She walked over to one side of the room and fetched a wheeled cart. Turning the cart around, she navigated it over to the pass and waited patiently in line with the other servers and runners as the cooks went about their duties on the other side.

"One steak, one scallop, one Caesar salad, three shrimp cocktails and two meat pies for box 47. Service, please!" the sous chef called out. She reached over and took each of the plates, carefully setting them on the cart. She grabbed bundles of cutlery wrapped in linen napkins and threw them on the cart as well. Turning the cart towards the door, she snatched a bottle of Grey Goose vodka on her way out.

"That's quite a spread," another server noted, glancing at the cart. "Who's having all that?"

"Mr. Crawley in box 47," she answered proudly. "His guests have already finished the two bottles I brought up earlier."

"Hmm, Mr. Crawley, you say?" the other server smiled. "And how's he looking today?"

"Gorgeous," the server winked.

"You lucky bitch. Have fun!" the other server laughed.

She pushed the cart out the door and wheeled it down to the service elevator. When she reached the executive boxes, she smiled and nodded politely to the patrons as they made their way past her to their suites. The cart was brought into suite 47, the dishes and cutlery quickly unloaded on the table against the wall with the rest of the food. The men in expensive suits came over to have their drinks re-filled. She opened another bottle of Grey Goose as she glanced across the suite at the man with blond hair and blue eyes who was looking out at the football pitch below.

"What do you think of the new manager?" one man asked.

"Big personality. Big ego. Big resume. He's a proper United manager, not like the stiff they had in here last season. Anyone would be better than him," another grumbled.

"He'll have them on the right foot from the off, you'll see," a third man nodded enthusiastically.

"What do you think, Matthew?"

Matthew kept his eyes fixed on the pitch below, watching as the players on both teams went through their warm-up exercises. He perused the action with a focused stare, as though he was studying something that no one else could see.

"I think," he answered finally, his eyes still on the players. "That playing a three-man backline is a rather interesting strategy for a home debut that you would expect the new manager would want to win comfortably. We aren't the fastest team in the world. A thin rearguard opens up possible seams for counter attacks."

Matthew's analysis was met by guffaws and passionate rebuttals. He ignored the rest of the debate and made no further comment. After several minutes, he turned and made his way to the bar, greeting each of his guests by name and giving them a polite smile and nod as he went.

"Coke with no ice and a lime, Mr. Crawley," the server grinned, handing him his preferred drink.

"Thank you," Matthew replied politely. He squeezed the lime wedge and dropped it into the drink. Walking off to the side of the bar, he took a sip and glanced at the display on his smartphone intently.

"Most of the betting action today is on Arsenal and United," a voice said quietly beside him. "There's a bunch of money coming in on Liverpool for tomorrow."

"You can always count on Scousers to be optimistic on the opening weekend of the season, Alex," Matthew smiled, looking up at his friend. "I think Southampton is in for a decent run this year, actually, but they probably won't get a result tomorrow."

"Well, I'm glad the season is finally starting," Alex nodded. "We're having an absolute cracker of a year so far and a close title race will make for a very happy Christmas."

"I don't know how close it's going to be," Matthew laughed. "City will push them, but it's Chelsea's title to lose. Having said that, you're right; the more teams that think they have a shot, the better it is for business."

They both went back to their mobile phones, their fingers moving back and forth as they swiped through different screens and applications. Matthew finally put his phone away and took another sip of his drink. Alex soon followed Matthew's lead, putting his phone into the inside pocket of his blazer jacket and taking a drink from his pint of beer.

"So what have you got for today?" Alex smiled, nodding back towards the pitch.

"You know that I don't like to bet against United," Matthew frowned.

"That's because you always bet the favourite," Alex joked.

"Not always," Matthew shook his head. "I bet on the team that wins."

"Then let me take United this time," Alex baited him. "If they win, you won't mind paying, and if they lose, you still win."

"Fine," Matthew said wryly. "100 quid, and I get Swansea at +900."

"+900!" Alex whinged. "We're only offering +600 online!"

"Then go online and hedge, if you like," Matthew smiled. "United is the clear favourite. Swansea have only won here once in their history. If you want me to bet against my own team, those are the odds that I want."

"Fine," Alex muttered, shaking Matthew's hand. "If United lose, we'll take in so much that I'll be glad to pay you the 1000 quid."

"That's the spirit," Matthew laughed, patting Alex on the back as they went to take their seats overlooking the pitch.

* * *

The ball sailed up and over the defensive wall and past the Swansea City goalkeeper, bound for the top corner of the net. It struck hard off the outside of the post and careened out of play, the collective groans of over 70,000 Manchester United fans echoing across the field as the players set up for the ensuing goal kick.

"For fuck's sake, Rooney!"

"It's coming. You'll see."

"Come on, lads!"

"Come on, United!"

Alex rolled his eyes at Matthew. It was getting late in the game, the two teams were drawing even at 1-1, and their guests had been drinking for two hours now. The combination of a close game and the alcohol was beginning to show.

Matthew remained quiet.

Minutes later, the visitors bombed up the field, working the ball from one end to the other. A few quick passes sent the attacking players past the United midfield and into acres of space on the wing, where the depleted United defence did not have enough men to cover the overlapping runs of the Swansea players. The ball was crossed from one side of the box to the other, and the United defenders were caught watching as the ball was passed back into the centre, and quickly thumped into the back of the net for a shocking Swansea lead.

The stands erupted in a chorus of groans.

"Oh, come on!"

"There's still time. We've got time to grab an equaliser!"

"Fuck a draw! We should be killing them, lads!"

Alex stared at Matthew in disbelief.

Matthew remained stoic.

As the minutes ticked by towards the end of the game, the fans became increasingly more vocal in their anger and disappointment. Swansea defended gamely and the match ended with a 2-1 scoreline in favour of the visitors. The debut for Manchester United and its new high profile manager had ended in abject defeat and embarrassment.

"I hate you. You know that, don't you?" Alex complained, taking out his smartphone.

"Don't be like that," Matthew said. "Remember, they're my team. I'm right pissed that they lost."

"I'm sure you'll get over it," Alex huffed, tapping the touchscreen of his phone. "There. I transferred the money. I hope whatever you spend it on causes you misery."

"No, you don't," Matthew said, getting up from his seat.

"No, I don't," Alex admitted, following behind him.

Matthew smiled at him as they went back into the suite.

"Vast majority of the bets were on United," Alex said, scrolling through his mobile web browser. "We had a few lucky calls on Swansea, like yours, but it was nothing compared to the bath people took on betting the favourite. Overall, between this result and the Everton draw, we're up a few million quid easily, and that's before the Liverpool match tomorrow."

Matthew smiled and nodded at Alex.

"Thank you for coming everyone. Mr. Lewis will take care of you from here while I go home and have a good cry. Please do try and enjoy the rest of your weekend," Matthew said to their guests as he headed for the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley."

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley."

"You as well, Mr. Crawley."

He nodded to the server, who grinned back at him. He left the suite, buttoning his suit jacket as he went.

Matthew reached the lift and motioned for an older man with two young children to step in first. He followed inside and stood at the back, watching the numbers above the doors as the lift moved down to the ground floor.

"Rubbish start," the man muttered, patting one of the boys on the back. The man turned to Matthew, who shrugged sympathetically.

"I bet the bookies done made a killing today, haven't they?" the man asked.

"Oh, I don't know anything about betting," Matthew smiled sheepishly as the elevator chimed and the doors opened. "I'm just a fan."

Matthew motioned for the man and his boys to step out first. He quickly made his way over to the reserved parking area and went to his car. The car beeped pleasantly and unlocked the doors in reply to his touch. Getting in and sitting down on the leather seat, Matthew pressed the ignition button and the car roared to life. He quickly drove out of the parking lot, a security guard opening a lane for him so he could leave ahead of the mass of people and cars crawling towards the stadium exit.

Halfway down the A56 motorway, his music was interrupted by the robotic female voice of the car's phone system.

"Incoming text from…Lord…Grantham," the voice announced in a clipped British accent.

Matthew blinked at the display screen in surprise. He pressed the button on the steering wheel for the message to be read out loud. The female voice had a slightly cheerful tone, which was morbidly out of place, given the content of Robert's message.

"Matthew, please call me. Horrible news. Patrick's dead."

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 2014**

"Well, that wasn't entirely as horrid as I expected," Mary sighed as she came into the parlour. "At least it was short."

"I'm pleased that the funeral service exceeded your expectations," Robert said bitterly as he sipped his glass of whiskey.

Mary rolled her eyes as she went to the bar and poured herself a glass of tonic water. She glanced over at the bottle of vodka, but reluctantly decided not to reach for it. She dropped a slice of lime into the glass and stirred it several times before taking a sip and walking back across the room.

"Now that the unfortunate business is over with, I wanted to talk to you about how we move forward, Papa. I just looked at the numbers from the last quarter, and I think you'll be very pleased," Mary said cheerfully.

"That's fine, Mary," Robert answered, staring blankly out the window.

"Yes, I thought so," Mary said, frowning at her father's back. "Since operations are doing so well, I think we should push forward with my expansion proposal, Papa. The more time we lose, the more we fall behind our competitors."

"Mary, I just had to bury my nephew; your cousin, I might add," Robert said tiredly. "This family is in mourning, and that includes you."

"I'll mourn for him in my own way; privately," Mary smirked. "If you expect me to wear black for six months, that isn't happening. This isn't Edwardian England."

Robert looked over at her sternly. Mary lost her smirk and looked down at the floor.

"I haven't had time to properly consider your plan," Robert said, looking back out the window. "It's the weekend, Mary. This can wait until next week, surely?"

"Papa, I know you don't believe in moving quickly on these things, but the rest of the world tends to disagree," Mary said, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice. "Why don't I just go ahead and get started and we can revisit things at year end?"

"No," Robert said firmly, turning and facing her. "I told you that I won't approve your plan until it's been thoroughly reviewed. This is a major expenditure for us, Mary, and I won't just allow you to spend millions of pounds on a whim and see where it leads later."

He carried his empty glass over to the bar. Mary watched him, her eyes narrowing in frustration. She had prepared an entire brief for him, complete with financial projections, mock design plans and comments on zoning issues and employees that would need to be hired. A whim, indeed…

"Besides, don't you think that we should hold off on any major changes until Patrick's replacement is brought in?" Robert asked as he refilled his glass.

"Replacement?" Mary frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about? I thought that I would simply carry on running Patrick's division and merge it with mine. I've already been doing his job for the past year."

"Don't exaggerate," Robert shook his head, still facing away from her. "Patrick did more than you're willing to admit."

"I am quite aware of how little Patrick did, actually," Mary said, arching her eyebrow. "Besides, who would you bring in? No one else is up to speed on our London operations and Edith and Sybil aren't ready for the responsibility. Don't tell me you're actually going to go outside our inner circle to replace him?"

"No, no, of course not. Our code forbids it. I have someone in mind; a family friend," Robert said, taking a sip and turning around to look over at her. "He'll be at our dinner in London on Tuesday, and he's a very quick study."

Mary's eyes widened.

"You can't possibly be serious," she said in shock. "You're summoning Matthew to take Patrick's place?"

"He's done very well for himself in Manchester," Robert said lightly. "Better than you ever give him credit for."

"Taking in the spare change of drunken punters betting on football matches?" Mary exclaimed. "He isn't ready to run an operation like ours! Not by a long shot!"

"That is your opinion," Robert said, walking over to her. "I've looked at the numbers and discussed some ideas with him already. He has a very refreshing way of looking at things that I think you'll find intriguing. For me, he's exactly the right person to come in and shake things up a bit."

"Papa, Patrick's division was always meant for me. You know that I'm the most qualified to take it over. Wasn't that always the plan if something should happen?" Mary pleaded.

"Plans change, my dear," Robert said, stepping towards her and kissing her cheek. "Now, your Mama and I are going to visit your Granny. We'll see you tonight at dinner."

The Earl of Grantham wandered out of the room, his footsteps echoing up to the high ceilings. Mary took a large gulp of tonic water and stared out the large windows across the fields of her family's lands. She let out a long breath, her fury seething just below the surface of her pale skin.

She was barely free of Patrick, only to have Matthew now push into her life.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 2000**

"I'm bored," Mary sighed.

"You're always bored," Edith noted. "And when we find you something else to do, you'll be amused for a minute or so and say you're bored again. There's no pleasing you."

"Well, the fault must obviously lie with the person finding me something to do then," Mary said archly, quirking her eyebrow at Edith.

"Stop doing that," Edith shook her head.

"Doing what?" Mary said haughtily, arching her eyebrow again.

"That!" Edith pointed. "That thing with your eyebrow! You aren't Granny, you know!"

"I will be, someday!" Mary retorted. "I'll be Lady Grantham, just like Granny and Mama."

"How?" Edith exclaimed incredulously. "Only the Earl's wife can be Lady Grantham, and you'll never marry the Earl."

Mary rolled her eyes and looked away. She closed her book and placed it back on the coffee table.

"Why don't you find another book?" Sybil suggested helpfully. "There's lots here."

"Not nearly as many as at Downton," Mary huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I know! Let's go and find the boys!"

She sat up and grinned, pleased with herself for her clever idea.

"They're downstairs," Edith stated. "Patrick is probably making Matthew do something horrid."

"Even more reason to seek them out!" Mary laughed. She jumped up from the sofa. "Come on!"

"No," Edith shook her head. "Mama said to stay up here. Besides, what fun is it in watching Patrick bully Matthew? I'd rather not."

"Oh, it's just teasing. It's harmless," Mary waved her hand dismissively. "If Matthew was truly bothered by it, he'd fight back, and he never does."

"Maybe he isn't the type to fight back," Sybil said quietly.

"All the more reason to go watch, then!" Mary smiled smugly.

Edith groaned and shook her head.

"Fine, stay here," Mary shrugged. "Sybil?"

"All right," Sybil said nervously. "But just for a moment. I'd hate to have Mama catch us out."

"We'll say we needed to get some air. She knows how stuffy it gets up here," Mary declared, growing more pleased with herself by the second.

"Won't you come, Edith? Please?" Sybil asked. "Just for a little while. Then we'll go right back up, I promise."

"Fine," Edith grumbled. "But only because _you_ asked me to, Sybil."

Mary rolled her eyes at her sister's comment.

The three young Crawley girls scampered out of the room and down the stairs. Mary held up her hand and glanced about, making sure the coast was clear of her parents or Carson or anyone else who would dare interrupt her fun. When she was satisfied they were still unnoticed, she walked briskly through the library and into the small parlour beyond, Edith and Sybil trailing behind her.

"Ah, perfect!" Patrick grinned, looking up as they entered. "The girls are here. They can decide."

"Decide what?" Mary asked as the children gathered around.

"We're trying to decide who is the bravest of us all," Patrick said. "I say it's me and Matthew says he is."

"I didn't say that," Matthew objected. "I only said that there were braver men out there than the both of us."

"Adults don't count," Patrick countered. "Now, the three of you will be the judges. I scored the winning goal last week in the Eton house tournament final."

"That has nothing to do with being brave," Matthew frowned in annoyance.

"Of course it does," Patrick said. "Though perhaps you're braver, Matthew. You do go to public school in Manchester, after all."

Mary giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"All right, all right," Patrick said, waving his hands. "Forget about school. True bravery is in doing something that is dangerous, isn't it?"

"It could be, yes," Matthew admitted.

"Excellent. Then go to the kitchens and fetch us a plate of Mrs. Patmore's cookies," Patrick challenged.

"We're not allowed to have cookies in the afternoon. Mama forbids it," Sybil said.

"Which is what makes it dangerous," Patrick replied. "Only the bravest one of us all would be able to pull off such a feat."

"Why don't you go and get them, then, if you say you're so brave?" Matthew asked.

"I stole a plate just the other day. I've already proven my bravery," Patrick shrugged.

"How's that?" Matthew protested.

"It was before you arrived, Matthew," Patrick said easily. "I snatched them right from the counter when the kitchen maid's back was turned. You remember, don't you Mary?"

Mary blinked in surprise, then caught Patrick's subtle glance.

"Oh yes," Mary nodded enthusiastically. "They were oatmeal raisin, my very favourite."

"I don't remember that happening," Edith frowned.

"You were out shopping with Mama and Sybil," Mary said immediately.

"I wanted to save you some, Edith," Patrick smiled at her. "But sadly Pharaoh found my hiding spot and ate them all. I gave that dog a right scolding for it, too."

"Oh, well that's all right," Edith smiled, gazing at Patrick fondly.

"So, really you have to do this just to match me in bravery, otherwise, you're a coward," Patrick smirked.

The girls all stared at Matthew. He frowned and glanced over at them, looking at Mary last.

Mary gave him a brilliant smile and nodded to him.

Matthew swallowed and took a deep breath.

"All right," he said finally. "Wait here and I'll be right back."

"Oh no," Patrick shook his head. "We're all going so we can see you from the stairs. It doesn't count if you walk in there and beg the servants to help you out."

Matthew glared at Patrick, then huffed in resignation and stalked off towards the stairs.

"Come on," Patrick laughed, beckoning Mary.

The girls went after him, all of them following Matthew to the back stairs and down to the kitchens. They all gathered near the doorway, each of them peering into the kitchen.

"There they are," Patrick whispered, patting Matthew on the back. "And oatmeal raisin again!"

"Ooh, I just adore those!" Mary grinned.

Matthew stared at her and swallowed nervously. She smiled at him once more.

"Go on," Patrick whispered.

Matthew took one last look at Mary, then looked left and right down the hallway. No one was about and the kitchen was deserted. Matthew took a small step forward, then another, looking around in fear as he moved towards the kitchen counter. He crept forward as silently as he could, his eyes wide as the plate of cookies came closer and closer. He held his breath and reached for it.

"Mr. Crawley! May I help you?" a booming voice called.

Matthew jumped in terror. He turned around and his mouth fell open at the sight of Carson looming in front of him.

"Mr. Carson!" Matthew exclaimed. "I…I…"

"You were thinking you would come down here unannounced and nick a plate of cookies, were you?" Carson said accusingly.

"No, sir!" Matthew shook his head vehemently. "Well, yes, sir. But, you see, I…"

Matthew's eyes looked past Carson to the stairwell. Patrick and the girls were gone.

"Mr. Crawley, you are well aware of Her Ladyship's rules. No snacks between luncheon and dinner. Now, I have no choice but to report this incident to Her Ladyship and to Mrs. Crawley your mother. Run along now, and hope that the fact you were stopped from actually taking the cookies will help your cause," Carson said in his usual intimidating baritone.

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Matthew nodded. He scampered past the family butler and up the stairs.

Patrick and the girls were waiting back in the parlour. When Matthew came in looking glum, Patrick burst out laughing.

"You should have seen your face!" he crowed. "I think you jumped a good foot off the ground when old Carson caught you!"

"I don't know how he got me," Matthew shook his head. "I looked all the way down the hall before I went in. No one was around."

"Well, you're not a very good thief, apparently, and not very brave, either," Patrick smiled. "Now, who's in the mood for a game of Trumps?"

"Not me," Matthew grumbled. "I need to wait here for Mother. Carson's speaking to her now."

"Well, that's your lot, then," Patrick shrugged. "Come on," he said to the girls.

Mary shook her head at Matthew, then left with Patrick. Edith followed behind.

"Go on, Sybil," Matthew said dejectedly.

"Oh, Matthew," Sybil said sadly. "I'm so sorry. I tried to stop Patrick. I really did!"

"What are you saying?" Matthew frowned. "Stop Patrick from doing what?"

"Patrick fetched Carson, Matthew," Sybil shook her head. "He waited for you to go into the kitchen, then he ran down the hall and knocked on Carson's office door. He ran back upstairs so that Carson wouldn't know it was him. Carson wandered down the hall to see who had disturbed him, and that's when he found you."

Matthew gasped in shock. He looked away, balling his fists and scowling in rage.

"I'm sorry, Matthew," Sybil repeated, before she hurried off after the other children.

"Matthew Reginald Crawley!" Isobel snarled, coming into the parlour.

"Yes, Mother," Matthew sighed, bracing himself for the scolding that was to come.

 **Salon Privé, Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester, Mayfair, London, England, September 2014**

"Mary? What are you doing out here? Are we early?" Sybil asked, kissing Mary on the cheek.

"No, darling, you're right on time. Mama and Papa have already gone in," Mary replied.

She gave Edith a more token kiss on the cheek, then turned and made her way to the restaurant.

"Were you taking a call?" Sybil asked.

"She didn't want to go in because Matthew is obviously already here," Edith smiled. "If Mary had her way, she'd have begged off of dinner entirely."

"I still might," Mary sighed. "Weeks ago, I was happily running my division the way I wanted, and now I must share power with…him."

The host nodded as the three Crawley sisters walked past him and went through to the private dining room.

"Matthew's not as bad as you think," Edith said quietly, shaking her head. "He's very smart, you know. I never understood why you dislike him so."

"You don't dislike him at all, obviously," Mary rolled her eyes. "You think he's wonderful. Both of you do."

"I like Matthew," Sybil shrugged. "He's been nothing but kind to me. When I was at school, he kept in touch with me more often than anyone else, even you."

"I was busy working, darling," Mary huffed. "Besides, just because the man can write a few pleasant emails doesn't make him worthy of inheriting control of Patrick's division. Papa's only doing this to punish me, and because he thinks Matthew's the son he never had."

"Well he's better than Patrick," Sybil said pointedly. "Even you have to admit that."

"I suppose, though that's a rather low standard to meet," Mary grumbled as they reached the dining room. "I'm reserving judgment until I see whether he knows what he's doing or not. He's never shown me he has any talent beyond an above average knowledge of sports, so I won't anoint him the company saviour just yet."

"Ah, girls, there you are," Robert grinned, waving them over. "Matthew was just filling us in on Isobel's latest adventures."

"Sybil, Edith," Matthew smiled, greeting each of them with a cheek kiss. They smiled and hugged him back in return.

"Mary," Matthew nodded, keeping his distance from her.

"Matthew, welcome," Mary said with a false smile. "How is your mother?"

"Very well, thank you," Matthew replied. "I was just telling Robert and Cora about how she's in Singapore now. A colleague set her up with a temporary position at KK Women's and Children's Hospital. She's enjoying it immensely, although she still hasn't gotten used to the heat, I'm afraid."

Robert and Cora laughed. Edith and Sybil smiled.

Mary kept her neutral expression.

"Well, shall we?" Cora smiled, inviting everyone to be seated. Matthew held out the seat next to his for Sybil to sit down. Edith took the chair on his other side. Mary went around the table and sat down across from Sybil, to her father's left.

The waiters came into the room and took their drinks orders.

"If you don't mind, Robert, I've taken the liberty of choosing the wines for the meal," Matthew said.

"Oh, wonderful," Robert smiled. "That will make things easy, then!"

Mary blinked to stop herself from rolling her eyes at her father's exaggerated enthusiasm.

Wine and sparkling water were soon served all around, and the waiters retreated to leave the family in privacy.

"Well, a toast," Robert said, raising his wine glass. "To Matthew finally coming home."

"To Matthew," Cora echoed with a grin.

Matthew blushed slightly as he clinked glasses with everyone, except for Mary.

Mary glared at Sybil in disbelief as she raised her wine glass.

Sybil shot Mary a warning glance.

Mary sniffed the wine for a moment, then took a small sip, sampling the taste. It was quite good, surprisingly. Without having seen the bottle, she didn't know the precise choice that Matthew had made for their first glass, but she recognized it was French, light and slightly bitter. So the man knew his wine, apparently. That didn't qualify him to run Patrick's division – _her_ division – she thought ruefully.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am that you're here," Robert gushed. "I've always thought it was wrong for you to be in Manchester all alone when you belong with us, particularly after Isobel left."

"Thank you, Robert," Matthew smiled graciously. "I'm just sorry for the circumstances that brought me here."

"You're not the only one," Mary said under her breath.

Sybil glared at her again.

"It will take all of us quite some time to recover from Patrick's loss," Cora nodded.

"If we even recover at all," Robert nodded.

Mary rolled her eyes. The only people suffering from Patrick's death were his bookie, his dealer, and the escort service he frequented.

"However, I'm sure you'll pick things up right away," Robert continued. "Patrick's division was turning around, and now it'll be in good hands indeed."

Mary sipped her wine again to stifle the rebuke forming in her mind. Patrick's division was turning around all right, thanks to her, and her alone! Sometimes her father's selective memory was infuriating.

"I hope you won't spend all of your time in London though. When did we last see you at Downton?" Cora asked.

"It's been quite a while," Matthew nodded. "I always enjoy Yorkshire. The roads around Downton are fantastic for cycling. I could get lost for hours out there."

"What a lovely thought," Mary said with a smile.

Edith frowned at Mary. Mary ignored her and finished her wine.

"How is the construction business?" Matthew asked, smiling at Edith. "I read somewhere that margins are drastically low."

"The industry is getting squeezed quite horribly," Edith nodded. "It's obviously not a problem for us. We have enough going on to keep us busy, but you should see some of the bidding wars going on for any commercial project that comes along. Contractors are promising to do the job at a loss just to get the work."

"Which only proves what I've been saying for years. We should consider getting out altogether," Mary said, looking at her parents. "Propping up the construction arm of the Group is becoming more of a nuisance with each passing quarter, to say nothing for the unwanted attention it always brings from the authorities."

"Mary, your great grandfather got us into construction, you know that," Cora replied. "We've been in the construction business almost as long as we've been in gambling."

"Give or take a generation or two," Mary laughed.

"The construction division is vital," Robert said firmly. "It puts our name on a legitimate business and keeps prying eyes away from our other operations."

"The casinos are a legitimate business, Papa," Mary said.

"At least the part that everyone knows about, anyway," Sybil smirked.

Everyone laughed.

"And what about you, Sybil?" Matthew asked, turning towards her. "Have you decided what part of the Group you'll be going into when you graduate?"

"I've actually decided to do a Masters, so I'll be in school for a few more years yet," Sybil smiled.

"Ah, wonderful!" Matthew nodded. "It'll be refreshing to have an honest academic among us."

Mary shook her head slightly in exasperation. Was there nothing that Matthew didn't find wonderful or interesting about her sisters' mundane lives?

"We have a number of functions coming up, Matthew; mainly fundraisers and such. I know you tended to avoid attending such events in Manchester but they're inescapable here in London, I'm afraid," Robert said.

"I feared you were going to say that," Matthew smiled ruefully. "Well, I will do what I must, though I have to say I still don't see the use of attending such things, really."

"It's tradition, Matthew. It's part of our duties – to be seen in the proper circles and with the right people," Mary said as though she were trying to educate a small child. "Don't worry. You'll soon get used to the way things are done here."

"If you mean that I'm accustomed to a very different life from this, you already know that is true," Matthew answered, glancing over at her.

"Bates mentioned something about your luggage not yet arriving at Grantham House?" Robert said, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. "Was there a delay of some sort?"

"No," Matthew said lightly, looking away from Mary. "I'll be staying at the Shangri-la. I prefer it there, actually."

"At a hotel?" Robert frowned.

"They have everything that I require there. I don't cook very much anyway and I like the view," Matthew explained.

"Of course you do," Mary chuckled. "Why bother having a proper house when you can sit up in your glass tower blissfully alone?"

"Mary," Cora frowned.

"Oh, I'm simply teasing, Mama," Mary smiled. "Matthew would be the first to admit that he prefers staying up in his suite, surrounded by computer screens, rather than taking a stroll through St. James."

"I probably would. You'll tell me that's rather unhealthy, compared to a walk in the park, or pressing the flesh and wandering the high limit room at Crockfords?" Matthew asked, watching Mary closely.

Mary held his gaze without flinching. "Not unhealthy. Just unusual. We don't spend our days hunched in front of a computer monitor, Matthew. That's a job for the analysts and IT people, not executives. But, the way you choose to run your small website enterprises don't concern me. I have bigger fish to fry."

"You do, do you?" Matthew smirked.

Mary frowned for a brief second, confused by what was behind his smug expression.

"Have you had a chance to look at Patrick's division yet?" Edith interjected.

"I reviewed the most recent reports before I left Manchester," Matthew answered, pulling his eyes away from Mary.

"Impressive, wouldn't you say?" Mary smiled.

"That depends," Matthew said, looking back at her. "I'd have to know more about the operations in question than what's on the financial reports. I suppose if one is satisfied with mediocrity, then the takings are adequate."

He sipped his water comfortably.

"Mediocrity?" Mary frowned.

"Yes. I don't see anything particularly noteworthy about the division's performance," Matthew replied.

"You didn't see anything particularly noteworthy? So you didn't notice that operating expenses have been reduced by 20% in the past six months and gross revenues are up by nearly 30%?" Mary bit back.

"I did see that, yes. But the peculiar thing about percentages is that when the previous year's figures were nothing to be proud of, a significant increase is still marginal, in absolute terms," Matthew answered with an air of indifference mixed with boredom.

Mary's eyes narrowed as she paused before giving Matthew her answer. She watched him like a lioness contemplating what part of her prey to bite into first.

"Those marginal increases help pay for the lifestyle that you so ungraciously will now be enjoying at our expense, Matthew," Mary scoffed.

"Mary," Robert scolded her.

"This is important, Papa," Mary snarled, keeping her cold stare on Matthew. "Matthew doesn't seem to understand how fortunate he is to be given his position, and I think he should educate himself before making such uninformed statements about the division that makes all the money around here."

"This is hardly the venue for confrontations, Mary," Matthew laughed, tilting his head slightly and smiling at her. "Surely we can have a nice meal together and leave business at the door?"

"That's entirely like you, isn't it?" Mary asked, smiling coldly. "Time obviously hasn't improved your narrow-minded views. Everything is so black and white. Personal and impersonal. Everything left behind at the office when the day is done."

"That policy has served me well thus far," Matthew said, his voice now tightening.

"In Manchester, perhaps. This is London, Matthew," Mary chastised him. "Everything we do is about business. We don't leave work aside when we take coffee breaks or meal breaks and we don't turn off our phones before we go to bed. If there is a matter of importance, we deal with it, anytime, anywhere. We don't have nine-to-five middle class jobs. We're on the clock at all hours if that is what it takes. So no, there is no right and wrong venue for discussions about business, thank you. And seeing as this is a family business, there's no reason to not discuss it at the family dinner table, even with outsiders present. You should try and get up to speed with how things are done here in the big city, otherwise you'll be run over and the rest of us will be left to pick up the pieces."

"Mary, that's enough," Cora ordered.

"It's all right," Matthew said, holding his hand up, keeping his eyes locked on Mary.  
"Clearly Mary has a great deal she wishes to say, and I'd like to hear her say it once and for all, rather than listen to her continue to mumble and mutter snide remarks under her breath all through the rest of dinner."

Sybil and Edith glanced at each other.

Mary was unfazed. She didn't care if he'd heard her earlier. A part of her was glad that he had.

"All I will say is that I'm not a babysitter, a nurse, or a purse. I won't carry you while you clumsily try and make heads or tails of the way things are done here. Insulting Patrick's division, and mine, is not the way to get started in the right direction with us. Further, trying to speak knowledgably about things you clearly know nothing about is equally idiotic," Mary lambasted him. "You can't hide behind a computer here, Matthew. This is the real world. We deal with real money and we make real decisions. This isn't playing around with one of your juvenile websites where teenagers bet their allowances on their favourite football team winning a match. The sooner you realize that, the better off all of us will be. And if you can't manage that, then do us all a favour and get out of the way."

A tense silence fell across the table. Mary stared him down, or at least she tried to. Matthew stared right back. He finally smiled at her before responding.

"Mary, I've always appreciated your candour. Your particularly…unique…brand of honesty is one of the many traits that I admire about you. Allow me to be equally honest," Matthew said, still smiling. "Last year your three casinos had total revenues of £347 million, up from £290M the previous year. Your group has approximately 28% of the London market. From your revenues, you paid nearly £242M in expenses, including payouts to customers, servicing your debts, staff costs, the leases on your properties, the gaming duties on reported income and various other charges, leaving you with a profit of £105 million for the year. Does that sound about right?"

Edith and Sybil both blinked in surprise and watched Mary for her reaction.

"Yes, that's right," Mary said, slightly taken aback. Anyone could read financial statements, she reminded herself.

"Last year, a total of £5.2 _billion_ was wagered legally on sports across the United States, Canada and Europe," Matthew said. "All through legal casino sports books and government sanctioned websites. A total of nearly £200 _billion_ was wagered in the illegal market across all sports. Two…hundred…billion. No taxes. No licensing fees. No royalty payments. Two hundred billion pounds of pure, high-margin, high-profit, revenue."

Matthew paused, keeping his blue eyes on Mary while the rest of the family absorbed what he said.

"Would you like to hazard a guess on what percentage of that total my 'juvenile websites' accounted for?" Matthew asked with the hint of a smile. "Or shall I wait while you use the calculator on your iPhone to run the numbers?"

Mary frowned.

Matthew continued, still staring at her.

"In one decent month, I bring in more profit than you do for the entire year, Mary. All the brilliant smiles, cheek kisses, girlish laughs and free drinks you hand out, all the low cut halters and short skirts that you have your servers parade around in, and all the female companionship services and cocaine care packages that Patrick arranged for, are nothing compared to the hundreds of thousands of hits on my websites that happen twenty-four hours each day, 365 days a year. And I don't need to pay taxes, overtime or health insurance for my computers," Matthew continued.

Mary's lips pressed together into a thin line.

Matthew finished with a flourish.

"So, no, I don't see anything particularly noteworthy about your performance, or Patrick's. God rest his soul, but Patrick was a horrible businessman, and you know very well that he was. The mediocre results of his division reflected that, even with all of your efforts to save it. But don't worry, you can carry on and I'll do my best not to get in your way as I try and get up to speed on how you do things here in jolly London."

No one else dared to speak. Mary and Matthew kept staring at each other, neither one willing to be the first to back down. They were finally interrupted by the team of waiters coming in with their first course.

"Ah, foie gras," Matthew smiled, finally turning away from Mary and watching as the food arrived.

* * *

"You all can't hide in here for the rest of the evening, you know," Cora shook her head as she came into the women's washroom.

"I can if I want to," Mary rolled her eyes as she touched up her makeup yet again. "I didn't ask Sybil and Edith to stay with me. They can go back in and enjoy Matthew's delightful company if they so choose."

"Were you expecting that he would cower and thank you for your helpful advice?" Cora smirked.

"I know that you and Papa are the co-chairs of the Matthew Crawley fan club, but you can at least admit that I was right. We don't know anything about Matthew's ability to run an operation the size of ours. He's never done it before. My concern is entirely valid," Mary said pointedly.

"Perhaps he lost your point in the vitriol that you were spewing at him?" Edith suggested.

Sybil giggled.

"You can't honestly believe he'll do any worse than Patrick," Cora said patiently, coming over to stand next to her daughter.

"That's not the point," Mary grumbled, frowning at their reflection in the mirror.

"Darling, I think you're just looking to pick a fight with him now," Sybil shook her head. "You wanted Patrick's division for yourself. Say Matthew is rubbish at running it, as you say. Then you'll be no worse off than you are now."

"Sybil's right," Edith shrugged. "You were already cleaning up after Patrick. Having to educate Matthew should be child's play compared to that."

"So now I tutor him on how to be a proper businessman and he takes all the credit and the division as well? I think not," Mary scoffed. "Papa made his choice, and now all of us must live with it, whatever the consequences."

"Suit yourself," Cora said lightly. "But out of all of us, you're the one who will be working closely with him. You can dismiss his abilities if you wish, but in the end, it'll be your division that suffers for it."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"And your Papa wants you to spend time with Matthew at first, show him around and let him see how we do things. So you won't be rid of him so easily, I'm afraid," Cora added.

"God," Mary muttered under her breath, putting her compact back into her clutch.

"Well, now that that's all settled, I'd like some dessert," Edith declared. "Come on, Sybil."

The two sisters left the washroom.

"You shouldn't quarrel with Matthew," Cora said, placing her hand on Mary's shoulder. "You may need him more than you realize. We all might."

"I can't see how," Mary frowned.

She grudgingly followed her Mama out of the washroom and back to the private dining room.

* * *

"You're sure I can't convince you to stay in London for a few more days?" Matthew asked Robert as they walked towards the hotel entrance.

Mary rolled her eyes. Was this evening of Matthew and her parents beaming at each other ever going to end?

"I'm afraid not, my boy," Robert smiled. "We're heading back now. But don't worry, you're in good hands. Mary will help you get acclimated as smoothly as possible, won't you, dear?"

"Of course she will," Cora answered for her daughter.

Mary gritted her teeth behind her closed lips.

They came outside into the crisp evening air. Valets and doormen ran here and there, moving cars around and ushering guests and luggage carts in and out of the hotel.

"Can I offer anyone a lift?" Matthew asked, handing his ticket to a valet.

"No thank you, Matthew," Cora smiled. "We're dropping Sybil and Edith off on our way out of the city, and Mary's heading out."

"A date?" Matthew asked, looking at Mary inquisitively.

"An appointment," Mary replied curtly, not looking at him.

"Well, good night, then," Matthew said to Mary.

He shook hands with Robert, nodded to Cora and hugged Sybil and Edith.

A sleek black sports car approached and parked at the kerb, its bright lights casting a blue tinged glow.

"Heavens, what a snappy chariot!" Cora remarked, glancing at the car.

"It's Japanese," Robert said. "Not to my taste, but I'm sure it's quite fast, if you like that sort of thing."

A valet came up to the group as they finished saying their goodbyes.

"Your driver will be here shortly, sir," the valet nodded to Robert. The valet then turned to Matthew and handed him a remote key fob.

"Sir," the valet nodded.

"Thank you," Matthew tipped the valet. He then got into the black sports car and pulled away from the kerb with a growl of the engine.

"My, Matthew has a rather nice car," Sybil remarked.

"Probably compensating for something else he's lacking in," Mary muttered, watching the red tailights disappear down the street.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Many thanks to _whatifthisstormends_ for the lovely cover GIF for this story. Grazie!


	2. Chapter 2

**Previously:**

 **Salon Privé, Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester, Mayfair, London, England, September 2014**

They came outside into the crisp evening air. Valets and doormen ran here and there, moving cars around and ushering guests in and out of the hotel.

"Can I offer anyone a lift?" Matthew asked, handing his ticket to a valet.

"No thank you, Matthew," Cora smiled. "We're dropping Sybil and Edith off on our way out of the city, and Mary's heading out."

"A date?" Matthew asked, looking at Mary inquisitively.

"An appointment," Mary replied curtly.

"Well, good night, then," Matthew said to Mary.

He shook hands with Robert, nodded to Cora and hugged Sybil and Edith.

A sleek black sports car approached and parked at the kerb, its bright lights casting a blue tinged glow.

"Heavens, what a snappy chariot!" Cora remarked, glancing at the car.

"It's Japanese," Robert said. "Not to my taste, but I'm sure it's quite fun to drive."

A valet came up to the group as they finished saying their goodbyes.

"Your driver will be here shortly, sir," the valet nodded to Robert. The valet then turned to Matthew and handed him a remote key fob.

"Sir," the valet nodded.

"Thank you," Matthew tipped the valet. He then got into the black sports car and pulled away from the kerb with a growl of the engine.

"My, Matthew has a rather nice car," Sybil remarked.

"Probably compensating for something else he's lacking in," Mary muttered.

 **Chapter 2:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2002**

"How many official languages does Switzerland recognise?" Sybil asked, turning the card over and nodding when she read the answer in her head. She looked up at Mary expectantly.

Mary frowned. She glanced down at the board, then back up at her sister.

"Sometime today, Mary," Matthew sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Shut up. I know this," Mary scoffed. "French, Italian, German…three. The answer is three."

"Wrong!" Matthew laughed gleefully, clapping his hands and doing a poor impression of a buzzer on a television game show.

Edith giggled.

"It's four," Sybil said sympathetically.

"What? How?" Mary snarled, reaching over and grabbing the question card from Sybil's hand.

"Hey! That's not allowed!" Matthew pointed out.

Mary ignored him and read the answer.

"Argh...Romansh? That's not even a real language!" Mary cried.

"Well, apparently it still is to the Swiss," Matthew grinned. "I'm shocked, Mary. All those trips to Geneva and ski vacations in the Alps. That question was tailor-made for you."

"Keep talking," Mary glared at him, moving her game piece away from the hub in the middle of the board. "I'm still only one answer away from winning."

"As am I," Matthew declared smugly. "And it's my turn."

"Bully for you," Mary rolled her eyes.

"What category should we pick for him?" Edith asked her sisters.

"Not Science or Sports," Mary said, smirking at Matthew. "Don't give the geek over here anything easy."

"I object to that term!" Matthew protested.

"Fine," Mary smiled. "Don't give the anorak over here anything easy."

Matthew shook his head ruefully.

"Arts & Entertainment?" Sybil suggested.

Mary thought for a moment, then nodded her assent.

Edith pulled the next card from the box and read out the question.

"What film was Marilyn Monroe fired from just before her death?" Edith asked.

Mary smiled. "You'll never guess this one. It's about a beautiful woman, something you have very little experience with."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Can you repeat the question, please, Edith?" he asked.

Mary shook her head in annoyance.

"What film was Marilyn Monroe fired from just before her death?" Edith asked again.

"Hmm," Matthew said, quirking his eyebrow and staring off into space.

"Sometime today, please, Matthew," Mary huffed after several seconds.

Matthew muttered to himself, his voice low and inaudible.

"I'm sorry, Matthew, perhaps Pharoah can hear what you're saying, but you need to actually speak up for us humans to hear your answer," Mary said mockingly.

Matthew turned and looked at her, his blue eyes staring at her unblinkingly.

"Something's Got to Give," he said confidently, enunciating each word and keeping his eyes locked on Mary's the entire time.

Mary's mouth fell open in shock.

"He's right," Edith shook her head.

"Yes!" Matthew hollered. He leapt to his feet and jumped up and down, pumping his fist several times in celebration.

Sybil laughed at him.

Edith smiled.

Mary fumed.

"Well, ladies, that's three in a row," Matthew said happily as he sat back down. "Here's a thought. This time, I'll let each of you start with a pie piece of your choice. Give you a fighting chance, eh?"

Mary grit her teeth, her lips sealed tight as she grew angrier at the sight of Matthew's beaming face.

"What's going on over here?" Patrick called as he came into the room.

"We're playing Trivial Pursuit. Matthew's winning," Sybil said helpfully.

Matthew smiled at her.

"How boring," Patrick sighed.

"You're only saying that because you're awful at it," Matthew shot back, his pleased smile unwavering.

"Hardly," Patrick chuckled. "Though I would be hard pressed to take on an anorak like you."

Mary chuckled with satisfaction.

Matthew's smile dropped and he made a small grunting noise.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Patrick said. "I'm going to go get a beer."

"How? You know we're not allowed," Matthew frowned, finally looking up at Patrick. "Everything is locked away for the party tonight, to say nothing for the fact that we're underage."

"I'll grab one off one of the footmen, Inspector," Patrick shrugged. "It isn't hard. Do you think they would refuse me or even care about my age? Anyone else want to come?"

"Certainly," Mary grinned, getting up from her chair.

"Mary!" Sybil exclaimed. "You can't drink!"

"Don't worry, darling," Mary assured her sister. "I'm only going to see how the food is coming along. I've had about enough of this lovely game."

"I'm shocked you even lasted as long as you did," Patrick smiled, motioning for her to go on ahead of him. They both left the room laughing.

Matthew frowned as he watched them leave.

"You get to go first, Matthew," Edith said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Oh, right," Matthew said, turning his attention back to the game.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, September 2014**

"And you remember Anna, of course," Mary said, gesturing to her assistant.

"Of course," Matthew smiled and nodded. "Anna, good to see you again."

"Mr. Crawley," Anna replied professionally.

The three of them walked into the boardroom. Mary sat down in the seat in the centre, directly facing the glass door. Matthew placed his briefcase in front of the chair next to hers. He remained standing. Anna took the seat next to Mary.

"Now, we should go through each of the different properties. They aren't all operated in the same manner…" Mary began, pressing the button on her tablet.

"One moment, Mary," Matthew interrupted, leaning on the back of his chair. "I'm just waiting for someone to join us."

"Who?" Mary turned her head and frowned at him. "I wasn't aware there was anyone else coming to the meeting."

"Ah, right on time," Matthew said, ignoring her question and looking up as another man walked into the boardroom.

Mary glanced up and narrowed her eyes as the stranger came around the table and approached Matthew. He was slightly taller than Matthew, with black hair and hazel eyes. His charcoal suit was custom tailored, and similar in cut and style to Matthew's navy blue.

"Matthew," the man smiled, shaking his hand.

"Mary, this is Alex Lewis. He's going to be helping me out a bit. Alex, Lady Mary Crawley, Vice-President, Operations, and her assistant, Anna Smith," Matthew said, making the introductions.

"Lady Mary," Alex bowed respectfully. "Miss Smith," he nodded to Anna.

"Hello," Mary said curtly, turning to Matthew. "Well, since your man is new, would you like a tour? We renovated since the last time you were here."

"I think we can find our way around later, thank you," Matthew said. "There's a few people I'd like to speak to. If they could be brought up here now, that would be best. Alex?"

Alex produced three copies of a list from his folio. He passed them down the table to Matthew, Mary and Anna.

Mary glanced briefly at the list, then swept it off to the side.

"This wasn't put on the agenda," she pointed out to Matthew.

"Oh, it will only take a moment, then we can get back to your talking points," Matthew said breezily as he and Alex took their seats.

"Any specific reason that you want to see these people in particular?" she asked.

"Oh, you know," Matthew smiled. "Just wanted to give them a little pep talk from the new boss, is all."

Mary studied him for a moment, before turning to Anna.

"Bring them up. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all get back to doing real work," Mary said.

"Does anyone mind if I tag along with Anna for a bit? I'd like to get better acquainted with how things are done around here," Alex said.

Mary glanced over at Anna, who shrugged indifferently.

"Go ahead," Mary said, waving her hand in the direction of the door.

The two assistants headed out, with Alex holding the door open for Anna to walk through first.

"Pep talk from the new boss, is it?" Mary asked.

"You know me," Matthew replied. "I'm all about making a good first impression."

Mary arched her eyebrow at his comment, then looked away and began browsing the screen of her phone.

"Let's hope you've improved by leaps and bounds in that area, for your sake," she replied, not bothering to lower her voice.

Matthew rose from his chair and walked over to look out the window, keeping his back turned as he waited for the named employees to be brought up.

* * *

When the group of thirteen people had gathered in the boardroom, Matthew and Mary sat facing them, with Anna and Alex sitting on either side of them. Matthew glanced from one employee to another, then sat back in his chair.

"For those of you who don't know me, my name is Matthew Crawley. I've been brought in to be the new Managing Director of the Crawley Group," he said crisply. "This is my assistant, Alex Lewis. Mr. Lewis is going to read out a few names. Once your name is called, if you could please stand over to the right. Thank you."

Alex proceeded to read out four names. The named individuals stepped off to the right of the rest of the group, glancing at each other nervously.

"Now, Mr. Lewis will read off another group of names, and I'd like those individuals to please stand off to the left. Thank you," Matthew instructed.

Alex proceeded to read out two names. The two identified employees shuffled off to the left, looking around in confusion at the rest of the group.

"The seven of you in the middle," Alex called. "When I read your name, please raise your hand. Sarah O'Brien…Thomas Barrow…"

Alex read out seven names and all seven of the people standing in the middle group raised their hands slowly.

Mary kept a bored expression across her face. Inside, she was wondering what the point was of this exercise.

"That's all of them," Alex said to Matthew.

Matthew leaned forward in his chair.

"You seven," Matthew said, nodding to the group in the middle. "Crawley Group thanks you for your service. You are no longer required as part of our operations. Security will escort you downstairs and assist you in cleaning out your personal effects from the locker room. You will then be escorted out through the employees' entrance. You'll be receiving documents in the post shortly detailing the terms of the termination of your employment. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Mary blinked in surprise.

The seven fired employees all stared wide-eyed at Matthew, then at Mary, then at each other.

"Please move along, thank you," Alex said crisply. The now ex-employees all complied, turning and walking out into the hall, where security guards walked them to the elevator.

"What are you doing?" Mary hissed under her breath.

Matthew waved his hand, dismissing her question.

"The four of you on the right, Crawley Group thanks you for your service. We're pleased to have you all onboard. You can go back downstairs and return to your positions," Matthew said politely.

The four employees quickly scurried from the room, afraid that he might change his mind.

Mary continued to seethe, though her expression remained impassive and detached.

"You two, Mr. Mason and Mr. Kent, is it?" Matthew asked, looking over at the two remaining employees.

"Yes, sir," William said, stepping forward and swallowing nervously.

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said, following William's lead and looking at him before turning his attention back to Matthew.

"Mr. Kent, Crawley Group thanks you for your service. You can go back downstairs to your post," Matthew said.

"Thank you, sir," Jimmy said, bowing slightly. He turned and left the room briskly.

"Mr. Mason," Matthew said, staring at William. "You're a doorman, correct?"

"Yes, sir," William said, swallowing again.

"Do you enjoy being a doorman, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked.

Mary frowned.

William glanced at Anna, his face awash with concern and confusion.

"Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked again.

"Yes, sir," William nodded, turning back to Matthew. "I do enjoy it, sir."

"And do you intend to be a doorman for the rest of your life, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked, his tone even.

Mary frowned again, then resumed her calm demeanour.

"Yes, sir," William nodded.

"Truly, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked. "Was that what your parents intended for you? That's all that you aspire to be?"

"Well…" William said, glancing at Anna again, then back at Matthew. "No, sir. That is, I very much enjoy my job, sir."

"But if you had your choice of which job you would have here, Mr. Mason, would doorman be your preference?" Matthew asked.

"N…no, sir," William shook his head reluctantly.

"Good," Matthew smiled. "Mr. Mason, you are no longer a doorman. I'm promoting you to be part of my personal staff, effective immediately."

William gasped in surprise.

"What?" Mary blurted out, looking at Matthew incredulously.

"Mr. Lewis will escort you into the office down the hall there and fill you in on your expected duties and responsibilities," Matthew continued, nodding to William. "He'll also have a package for you, including your new employment contract. Please feel free to go over it with a lawyer if you like before you decide whether to accept my offer. I do hope that you find the position preferable to your current circumstances, though, Mr. Mason, and that you'll give us a chance."

"Thank you, sir!" William nodded. He stood still until Alex rose from the table and walked around to him. William slowly turned and left the office as Alex held the door open for him.

"What the hell was that about?" Mary exclaimed, rounding on Matthew once Alex and William had left. "You can't just fire seven people from our staff without consulting me!"

"Those seven people were stealing from you," Matthew said calmly. He reached into his briefcase and retrieved two red folders. He passed one to Mary and another one to Anna. "They were pocketing tips instead of putting them into the employee pool, and were working with accomplices to rig some of your table games. You'll find the reports on each of them to be rather comprehensive, and quite entertaining reading, I might add."

"How did you find this out?" Mary asked, scanning over the papers on each of the fired employees."

"Simple. I had everyone working on the casino floor investigated," Matthew said. "My people reported back to me that these seven were engaging in rather improper conduct."

"Your people?" Mary frowned. "You sent investigators into the casino without telling us?"

"Telling you would defeat the purpose of the investigation, Mary, which was to be as discrete as possible," Matthew explained. "But, feel free to rehire those employees if you like, so long as you agree to take sole responsibility for them."

Mary closed the folder and set it aside.

"And the four that you kept? What about them?" Mary asked.

"I chose them at random. They're clean," Matthew said. "I needed witnesses to spread the word that we fired the others. It'll help deter the remaining employees from behaving badly."

Mary looked at Anna, then back at Matthew.

"Well, thank you for the use of the boardroom," Matthew said, closing up his briefcase and getting up from his chair. "I have a meeting, so I need to head out. The items on your agenda can wait, I trust?"

"What about Mason?" Mary asked as Matthew reached the door. "Why did you promote him to your staff?"

Matthew turned and looked back at her. He paused for a moment as if he was considering something.

"I liked the way he greeted me when I arrived this morning," Matthew said.

Mary frowned in disbelief.

Matthew walked down the hall to the elevator and left.

"He's even worse than I thought he'd be," Mary muttered.

Anna smiled and went about organizing her papers as Mary stewed.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames House, Millbank, London, England, September 2014**

"Look alive there, lads," the Director barked as he came into the meeting room. The agents all adjusted their posture and sat up straight in their chairs. The Director walked past them to the lectern at the front of the room. Accompanying the director was a short man with slightly messy dark brown hair and a shadow of stubble across his chin.

"As you all know, we've been collaborating with other departments to try and coordinate our efforts in taking down some of these crime families," the Director said, holding on to the edges of the lectern. "We're dealing with criminals who have been carrying on for over a century. They're well organized and they've got lawyers who make sure that nothing sticks to them. That's why the usual charges – money laundering, prostitution, drug trafficking – they don't work anymore. We've had far more success with smaller offences that we can use to catch them and have them roll over on the bigger fish. That's what our guest here is going to talk to you about. I want you all to pay attention to Mr. Charles Blake of Revenue & Customs."

The Director stepped back and gestured for Mr. Blake to step forward. Charles approached the lectern and adjusted the microphone down to his level. He placed one hand on the podium, then nodded to the assembled agents before he began.

"Thank you for having me. Now, as the Director has mentioned, HMRC has been working with MI5 for a while now to coordinate investigation into organized crime in Britain. We've done better as of late, because it's far easier for us to prove that an individual has committed tax fraud, tax evasion or another similar offence than it is to link any person to a murder, drug transaction or more serious crime. We're now looking to expand our scope beyond the traditional crime families to the organizations that we think are much bigger."

Charles clicked a button on the remote control in his other hand and a series of slides came up on the large screen at the front of the room.

"When we think about crime families, we think about gangs that came out of poor neighbourhoods in East London, or immigrants who settled here in the past and brought drugs, prostitution and gambling with them," Charles lectured. "All of these are low level groups; criminals to be sure, but their territory is usually small and they're nothing compared to the large cartels that we know of in South America, Russia or Asia. There's a different group, though, that we're now investigating"

Charles stopped the slideshow at a black and white photograph of a large country estate home.

"In the late 18th century, the power base of British Society began shifting. Back then, the landed gentry, the aristocrats, controlled the wealth and political power of the Empire. Over the centuries, through war, taxation, and the passing of new laws, the money and the influence of the ruling class was drastically reduced, to the point that by World War I, many of them were bankrupt and did not enjoy the same control of the government that they did in generations past," Charles said, glancing at the slide.

"What's this now? A history lesson or a briefing?" one agent whispered to another at the back of the room.

"Now why is this important?" Charles asked rhetorically. "Well, as you can imagine, the elites did not take very well to losing their homes, their lifestyle or their privileges. Even though their fortunes were eroded by taxes and death duties and so on, a select few had the foresight to reorganize their affairs so that their wealth and power could be preserved for generations to come. They opened what appeared to be legitimate businesses and used the profits and losses from those businesses to pay or reduce their taxes. While keeping the government at bay, they became more and more involved in illegal activities, hiding their revenues, avoiding taxes and building their wealth back up. By hanging on to their properties as much as possible, they kept control of land that would eventually be worth millions, permitting them to finance their operations further, all while the government remained in the dark."

Some of the agents frowned as the weight of Charles' words seeped in.

"This new type of crime family, which is really not new at all, had the best of all worlds," Charles continued. "They stayed away from the types of crime that normally would draw scrutiny from the authorities; very seldom did they deal in drugs or prostitution. Instead, they focused on money laundering, gambling, and tax evasion, keeping more and more of their wealth within the family and, over the decades, building a network of shadow companies to shield themselves from investigation. Rather than prey on regular citizens, they delude themselves into thinking that they're merely stealing from the government, and therefore are justified in keeping what they think belongs to them. We estimate that these families have avoided paying taxes to Her Majesty well into the hundreds of millions of pounds, and that's a conservative estimate, keeping in mind that we don't actually know the true reach of these families."

Charles had everyone's attention now.

"The genius of these crime families is that they are virtually impossible to distinguish from normal, law abiding, and successful family businesses. They've been covering up their activities since the early 20th century, and with today's technology and the global reach of some of these families, trying to catch them is the biggest challenge that any of us will likely ever face."

He paused and looked around the room from one agent to another.

"So, who's up for it?" he asked with a smirk.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, September 2014**

"Mr. Mason, how may I help you?" Matthew asked.

"Mr. Crawley, sir, I was wondering if you needed me this weekend in Yorkshire, sir," William asked.

"No, I should be fine," Matthew replied, still looking at his monitors. "I'll drive down on Friday and the meeting is on Saturday. I expect we'll be back here by Sunday morning at the latest. I'm trying to get back Saturday night if I can."

"Very good, sir," William nodded.

"Something else on your mind, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked, not looking up but still noticing that William had not left his office.

"Mr. Crawley, sir, I was hoping that I could have my old job back," William mumbled.

"Excuse me?" Matthew asked.

"I…I don't quite know…well, you see, I just don't think I'm qualified to be an…executive assistant…or whatever it is you want me to be, sir. I…well, I would much appreciate it if I could have my old job back, sir," William said.

"You wish to go back to being a doorman, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, please, sir," William nodded.

"Well, unfortunately we've already hired a new doorman so your old position is no longer available to be filled," Matthew said, turning in his chair and getting up. He walked over to the small fridge and took out a bottle of water.

"But, sir…" William said with wide eyes.

Matthew swallowed his sip of water, then looked at William for the first time since the young man had come into his office. "Mr. Mason, you've been in your new position for less than a week. How do you know that you're not qualified to do the job, exactly?"

"Well, sir, it's just that Mr. Lewis went to Oxford and you went to Cambridge, sir," William said.

"Yes, and?" Matthew shrugged, waving the bottle of water around dismissively.

"I never went beyond my A-levels, sir," William said nervously. "There must be someone else around, someone who went to London School of Economics or somewhere like that who could do the job for you, sir."

Matthew nodded in thought. He sipped his water again and walked slowly over to his desk. He sat down and continued to drink from the bottle.

William frowned, then blinked and stayed still, watching Matthew peculiarly.

Matthew finished his water, put the cap back on the bottle and promptly launched it across the room into the recycling bin.

"Mr. Mason," Matthew said crisply, turning his chair to face William. "What did Mr. Lewis tell you your job responsibilities would involve?"

"He…he said that I would be assisting you with your transition to London from Manchester, and that I would be helping you implement the different administrative systems that you prefer using, sir," William replied.

Matthew smiled. "And what does that mean, exactly, Mr. Mason?"

"I…I don't know, sir," William admitted.

"Good," Matthew nodded. "Have a seat, please, Mr. Mason."

William blinked in surprise, then quickly moved to sit down in the chair across from Matthew's desk.

Matthew began typing quickly on his keyboard.

"Mr. Mason, as esteemed as some institutions of higher learning may be, there are certain vital skills that post-secondary education unfortunately does not teach very well," Matthew said, moving his mouse around, then resuming his typing. "Alex had a wonderful time at Oxford, but Oxford did not teach him how to use his eyes. I was very enriched by my time at Cambridge, but Cambridge did not teach me how to listen. Do you follow?"

"Yes…sir," William said slowly. "There are some things that university didn't teach you."

"Precisely," Matthew nodded. He stopped typing and reached toward one of the monitors on his desk. He spun the monitor around so it was now facing William.

"Do you recognize this man, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked.

Matthew looked closely at the screen for several seconds.

"Yes, sir. That's Mr. Abramovich, sir," William nodded.

"Very good, Mr. Mason. It most certainly is," Matthew smiled. "And what is Mr. Abramovich known for?"

"He's the owner of Chelsea, sir," William answered.

"That he is," Matthew nodded. "And when was the last time that Mr. Abramovich visited our lovely casino here, Mr. Mason?"

"That would have been just a few weeks ago, sir," William said. "He came in with a large group. They enjoyed themselves quite a bit, from what I heard, sir."

"That they did, Mr. Mason," Matthew nodded. "Mr. Abramovich was here following Chelsea's victory over Everton. He had such a good time that night that he decided to invest a significant amount of money in a small oil venture in Asia the next morning. Do you remember anything significant about Mr. Abramovich that evening, Mr. Mason?"

"No, sir. He came in with his group and stayed for quite a while. I think he left around 2 o'clock in the morning, sir," William said.

"Right," Matthew said, glancing at the second computer monitor on his desk. He moved his mouse and dragged another image on to the screen facing William.

"Do you recognize this man, William?" Matthew asked.

William stared at the screen. "Yes, sir. I don't know who he is, but he was there that night, with Mr. Abramovich."

"That he was," Matthew smiled. "His name isn't important but he's the man who sold the shares in that oil venture in Asia to Mr. Abramovich. They spent hours eating, drinking and gambling, and by the time you opened the door for them to leave the casino in the wee hours of the next day, they had an agreement in place. Now, the whole world knows, today, weeks later, that the agreement was entered into, but that night when Mr. Abramovich had his party here at the casino, only you, and a few select others, would have seen those two men enter and leave together. That information, had it been known at the time, would have been quite valuable, Mr. Mason."

"Sir?" William asked in confusion.

"Mr. Lewis is going to set you up with a series of photographs, very similar to the ones I've just shown you," Matthew said, turning the monitor back around. "I want you to note anything and everything that you can remember about the people that you see in those pictures. No detail is too insignificant. I also want you to circulate around the casino floor from time to time each day and evening. Speak to your friends, your co-workers, the other doormen, the dealers, the valets, the servers, the bartenders, the escorts that are ushered into the casino discreetly through the side entrance. I want you to be my eyes and ears in this place. You may not have a university degree, but you have something far more valuable to me, Mr. Mason. You have credibility. You're known as a hard working and conscientious person; a nice fellow. That means that people will be willing to share gossip with you because they trust you. It also means that people will tend to have loose tongues around you because they don't see you as a threat to them, as someone who is ruthless and conniving and might betray their confidence. Believe me when I say, Mr. Mason, that you are eminently qualified for this position."

"Yes, sir," William swallowed, his eyes wide. "Thank you, sir. I…I won't let you down, sir."

"No, I am quite confident that you won't," Matthew smiled, sitting back in his chair. "Now go on back to your office and get started. I think Alex should have the first batch loaded and ready for you."

"Thank you, sir! Right away, sir!" William nodded eagerly, rising to his feet and continuing to nod as he backed his way out of Matthew's office and walked briskly down the hall.

Matthew smiled and shook his head as the young man scampered off.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 2014**

"What do you think, Matthew?" Robert asked.

The rest of the family watched Matthew carefully, awaiting his answer.

Matthew flipped the pages of the large document, then closed it up and slid it across the table.

"I'd say he's got a great case," Matthew answered.

Mary rolled her eyes.

"But he obviously cheated us," Robert scoffed. "What in God's name is 'edge sorting'? We've been in this business for generations and I've never heard of it."

"Edge sorting, reading the cards, card counting, call it whatever you like," Matthew said easily. "The point is that the House is supposed to be equipped to sniff out these attempts at gaining an advantage in any card game. Patrick could have very easily prevented this with a few simple measures, and he didn't. He was probably too busy bragging that he had the world's foremost poker player betting a million pounds in our casino to realize that we actually could end up losing."

Mary frowned. She had to admit that she agreed with Matthew there. This was all Patrick's colossal fuck-up, and could have been avoided if he'd only shown some foresight and taken proper precautions.

"So that's it? We get cheated, he sues us, and now we'll have to pay him?" Robert exclaimed.

"I didn't say that," Matthew noted calmly. "I said he's got a great case, and he does. Everyone loves a tale of the casino being taken by a lone player, even if this lone player is a millionaire professional gambler and had an accomplice with him. But I think there's enough here that we can fight him off, at least in this first skirmish anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" Edith asked. "It won't be over after this?"

"Of course it won't be," Mary huffed, glaring at her sister.

"Whoever loses the court case will appeal, so no, it won't end with this trial," Matthew nodded at Mary in agreement. "There are ways we can turn this to our advantage though."

"And how is that?" Robert frowned.

"First, ensure that our defence is sound and layered with multiple arguments. Argue that he manipulated us. He made abnormal requests for specific sets of cards, a specific croupier and a specific table. He changed the odds in his favour, which we were unaware of. We agreed to his requests because he was a well-known VIP that we've hosted many times. Never in a million years would we have suspected he was using this bizarre 'edge sorting' strategy to take advantage of us. We don't even know what 'edge sorting' means. It isn't a common practice in Britain, so how would we know to guard ourselves against it?"

Robert nodded, a slight smile coming to his lips as he followed along.

"Now the man's a lawyer," Mary said, rolling her eyes at Sybil.

"Well, I did study law at Cambridge," Matthew shrugged, not bothering to look at Mary as he deflected her quip.

Sybil and Edith chuckled.

Mary didn't.

Matthew went on. "The point is that our theory of the case should be that this was not merely one man taking advantage of an error that we made. He deliberately misled us to gain an advantage in the game. The public will side with him; that can't be helped. But the Judge should be on our side, so long as we stick to a consistent story that he changed the very rules of the game on us."

"I see," Robert nodded.

"The investigators have hours of video footage," Mary said. "We can show that he and his female accomplice were playing the croupier from the very beginning."

"Where is the croupier now?" Robert asked.

"Already out of the country. Matthew fired her," Mary smirked.

"Good," Robert nodded. "Then we won't need to take steps to ensure she doesn't testify."

"The Judge's decision itself isn't as important as what we do afterwards though," Matthew said.

"In what way?" Robert asked.

"The trial will get us a lot of publicity and attention, whether we want it or not. We should be very careful about what we say. We don't want the government to start wondering about what else we may be up to. We also do not want any high limit players to think that we are being unfair, or that we enjoy airing our grievances in public. After all, he sued us, not the other way around. When we win, we should immediately be ready with a statement that says we regret how all of this transpired, that we greatly respect our clients and their right to privacy and that we are satisfied to have protected our reputation for fair, honest, and professional conduct," Matthew explained.

"Excellent," Robert smiled. "Mary?"

"I'll have Anna work with PR to have a spokesman and a statement ready to go in the event of either outcome," Mary nodded.

"Another thing," Matthew said. "Robert, you must remain here. You can't attend the trial and bring undue attention on the family."

Mary blinked and stared at Matthew.

"You sound like Mary," Robert grumbled.

"And she's right," Matthew nodded. "The last thing we want is to turn this into a faceoff between the Plaintiff and you. The longer we remain just a casino, the better. Involving the Earl of Grantham directly in all this is something we do not want."

"Then, if not Robert, who will be there with Murray and provide instructions?" Cora asked.

"With Patrick gone, the next recognizable name and face for Crockfords is Mary's. She can represent all of us," Matthew replied.

Mary's eyes went wide in surprise. She composed herself and looked at her father, waiting for his response.

Robert tapped his fingers slowly on the table as he contemplated Matthew's recommendation.

"Fine," Robert said finally.

Mary exhaled in relief.

"But I want both of you there," Robert continued. "Mary can sit at the counsel table with Murray, but I want you in that courtroom, Matthew, even if you're sitting at the back. I want to hear from you as to what happens in there."

Mary frowned. She looked up and saw Matthew staring at her.

"Of course, Robert," Matthew answered finally, turning to the Earl. "As you wish."

* * *

"Mama says you aren't staying for dinner?" Sybil asked Matthew as she came into the library.

"I wasn't planning on it, but your Granny had me change my mind," Matthew answered, looking up from his book. "I was hoping to be back to London by this evening, now I'll just leave a bit later."

"I'm surprised that Papa is letting you go," Sybil smiled.

"He wasn't pleased, no," Matthew laughed. "But we accomplished what we wanted. The meeting went well and we have a strategy for the trial. He knows that I'm of more use in the city anyway."

"I think you're just running away," Sybil teased.

"From what?" he asked.

"Among other things, from going to Church with all of us tomorrow," Sybil answered.

"Ah," Matthew laughed. "It has been many years since I last went, that's true."

"Well, come and find me before you go," Sybil said, turning for the door. "We are still on for dinner next week, yes?"

"We are, and I will," Matthew nodded. "Where's Mary, by the way?"

"Where else? In her hiding place," Sybil smiled at him before leaving the room.

* * *

Matthew ducked his head and passed through the low doorway. Straightening his posture, he stopped as he saw Mary standing across the room at the long table. She had changed clothes and was now wearing yoga pants, a fitted t-shirt and trainers. He watched as she meticulously went about her task, her hands moving with a practised ease. She fit the cleaned pieces of the gun back together in quick succession and slid the magazine in place with a satisfying 'click'.

As if sensing his presence, she paused before lifting the gun, and glanced back over her shoulder. He could almost make out the roll of her eyes as she turned away and took off her glasses and ear protectors.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked idly, switching the safety of the gun back on and putting it down on the table.

"Thought I'd come have a go," Matthew replied, walking up and standing beside her.

"That's a lie," Mary huffed, still looking down at the table rather than at him. "You hate shooting. You've never been good at it."

"That's rather unfair of you, isn't it? You haven't seen me shoot for years," Matthew replied.

"Witnessing your incompetence once was enough," Mary retorted. "Besides, where would you have practised? Do you expect me to believe you joined a gun club in Manchester?"

"Seems rather unbelievable, doesn't it?" Mathew smiled, looking down at the stone floor.

"Quite," Mary agreed. She stole a sideways glance at him and allowed herself to smirk at the memory of Matthew's disastrous turn at the gun range when they were teenagers.

Matthew looked up and watched her for a moment, then glanced across the room at the target.

"I wonder what the authorities would say if they knew that this room still existed, and that we still use it?" he mused.

"We don't really use it," Mary shrugged. "Besides, having an illegal gun range in the basement is the least of our crimes, isn't it?"

"I suppose that's right," Matthew laughed.

"I…should thank you," Mary hesitated, looking away from him. "For intervening this afternoon before I said something rude to Papa. I've been pleading with him for weeks to not attend the trial, and one word from you seems to have finally convinced him."

"I was just stating my opinion, what I thought made sense for everyone involved, including him," Matthew said.

"Of course," Mary rolled her eyes. "You're the one with the family's best interests at heart, and I'm the spoiled bitch who is just trying to keep Papa away so he doesn't see how much Patrick and I cocked things up."

"I'm sure he doesn't blame you for any of this," Matthew said.

"And I'm quite sure that he does," Mary laughed ruefully. "That was the plan all along, you know? Patrick and I would oversee our London operations and Papa would stay here, remaining in the background and away from scrutiny. He trusted us to keep things running smoothly and so Patrick's problems are my problems, especially now."

Matthew remained quiet.

"If you hadn't suggested that I attend the trial, he probably would have just ordered you to go in my place," Mary sighed.

"Well, that's not happening," Matthew said firmly. "You'll be sitting at the counsel table with Murray and you'll be giving him instructions. You won't even know I'm in the courtroom."

"I can just imagine what Papa will ask you when he calls each day," Mary said bitterly. "'How are things going?' 'Is the Judge on our side?' 'Can you believe what a mess Mary's made of this?'"

"We're all in this together here, Mary," Matthew interjected. "We all have the same goal – to get through this with as little damage as possible."

"Of course," Mary nodded. "Well, thank you for choosing my side on this, Matthew."

She put on her protective glasses and her ear covers back on. Matthew took that as his cue to leave and he stepped back and moved away as Mary picked up the gun.

He watched her from the doorway as she aimed and fired, holding the gun in front of her with both hands. The clap of the each bullet firing reverberated across the room. Mary stood rigid, arms raised in front of her, legs spread slightly. Matthew swallowed as his eyes lingered on the exposed nape of her neck, the sharp lines of her back, the curve of her bottom and her long legs. The sound of Mary firing another shot shook him from his reverie, and he quietly left the room and went back upstairs.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At The Shard, London, England, September 2014**

"I'm surprised you made it back tonight," Alex said, taking a swig from his beer bottle. "I thought you'd be ordered to stay through to tomorrow."

"Violet wasn't particularly impressed. I was going to leave before dinner but she made me stay for that," Matthew smiled. "She said that if I ate with the family, then my leaving was only a little bit rude, rather than an affront to proper etiquette."

"And what did Lady Mary think of your abrupt departure?" Alex asked.

"She was probably dancing a jig to be rid of me," Matthew huffed, taking a sip of his Coke. "We managed to have a civil conversation, but only because I took her side when advising Robert."

"Well, it's something, at least," Alex smiled wryly and shook his head.

"A very small something," Matthew said sadly, looking over at the view of late evening London outside his window.

"Well, your poor manners aside, did you end up deciding on anything?" Alex asked.

"Yes. Robert wants me at the trial," Matthew sighed, taking another sip of his drink. "It shouldn't be more than two or three days at most, but I'll be in Court until four or five, and I expect that there will be debriefings with Murray afterwards, so consider me unreachable until after dinner."

"Understood," Alex nodded, noting the days in the calendar on his smartphone.

"Since that takes away part of my week, you'll need to deal with that special project. It's probably more efficient that you do anyway," Matthew instructed.

"I expected that you would delegate it to me," Alex smiled. "I'll see what I can dig up. Anything else happen in Yorkshire?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, since we are on the subject of the special project," Matthew nodded. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and took out a smartphone.

"Robert was holding Patrick's personal effects, including this. It's been taken off the network, but the data should all still be there, as well as the link to his Cloud accounts," Matthew said, handing the phone to Alex.

Alex looked at the phone for a moment, then slid it into his pocket. "I'll look through it. Did Lord Grantham have anyone go over it yet?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Matthew shook his head. "He didn't volunteer the information and I didn't ask. I think he's still taking it quite hard. He couldn't even look at the items with me. He had one of the footmen show me to where they were being kept."

"I can't say that I blame him," Alex shrugged. "Losing Patrick probably dredged up bad memories of what happened to James."

"How could it not?" Matthew agreed. "Still, it isn't as though Robert could have done anything in either case."

"He probably doesn't see it that way," Alex replied.

"Of course he doesn't," Matthew said. "But the days when he could keep us all safe behind the walls of Downton are gone forever, if they ever even existed at all beyond his own imagination. His family is far too ambitious to be locked away, and in our world, once you try and build something worth having, you invite all manner of problems. It's inevitable, really."

"That drive back must have been longer than I thought," Alex smiled. "You've gone all existential on me."

"Hardly," Matthew smiled, finishing his drink. "I just think there's very limited value in dwelling on the past, particularly the bad memories, or even dreading the future, so I choose not to."

"Fair enough. Anything in particular that you want me to look for on Patrick's phone?" Alex asked.

"See if you can trace his steps over his last days," Matthew said, looking at his empty glass thoughtfully. "Find out if there's anything on that phone that will help us figure out who killed Patrick."


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At The Shard, London, England, September 2014**

Alex looked at the phone for a moment, then slid it into his pocket. "I'll look through it. Did Lord Grantham have anyone go over it yet?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Matthew shook his head. "He didn't volunteer the information and I didn't ask. I think he's still taking it quite hard. He couldn't even look at the items with me. He had one of the footmen show me to where they were being kept."

"I can't say that I blame him," Alex shrugged. "Losing Patrick probably dredged up bad memories of what happened to James."

"How could it not?" Matthew agreed. "Still, it isn't as though Robert could have done anything in either case."

"He probably doesn't see it that way," Alex replied.

"Of course he doesn't," Matthew said. "But the days when he could keep us all safe behind the walls of Downton are gone forever, if they ever even existed at all beyond his own imagination. His family is far too ambitious to be locked away, and in our world, once you try and build something worth having, you invite all manner of problems. It's inevitable, really."

"That drive back must have been longer than I thought," Alex smiled. "You've gone all existential on me."

"Hardly," Matthew smiled, finishing his drink. "I just think there's very limited value in dwelling on the past, particularly the bad memories, so I choose not to."

"Fair enough. Anything in particular that you want me to look for on Patrick's phone?" Alex asked.

"See if you can trace his steps over his last days," Matthew said, looking at his empty glass thoughtfully. "Find out if there's anything on that phone that will help us figure out who killed Patrick."

 **Chapter 3:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 2004**

"Did you get it?" Patrick asked eagerly as Matthew came over to the picnic table.

"Yes," Matthew said, rolling his eyes. He handed the bag to Patrick and sat down beside him.

"Beautiful," Patrick clapped, taking a small pouch out of the bag and passing it over to his friend sitting across the table from them. "What's the damage?"

"I'll add it to everything else," Matthew grumbled. "You're lucky that I was able to track this down. You know we're not allowed to deal in this stuff."

"We're not allowed to sell it," Patrick corrected him. "Nothing in the rules about buying, is there? Besides, this is such a piddling amount, it won't matter. Go on, Larry," Patrick smiled, drumming his hands on the table in anticipation.

"Why me?" Larry frowned.

"Because I can't roll for shit," Patrick shrugged. "And neither can Tim here."

"What about Matthew?" Larry asked, nodding towards him.

"Please," Patrick scoffed. "You think Matthew knows how to roll a joint? Now come on!"

Larry grunted and went about preparing the marijuana cigarette.

"Where are you going next year, Matthew? Decided yet?" Tim asked as they waited on Larry.

"Cambridge," Matthew answered. "I was accepted at Trinity."

"Hey, good for you," Tim smiled, nodding to Matthew.

"Yes, fantastic, Matthew," Patrick laughed. "Trinity is perfect for you. You and all the other choir boys and virgins."

Matthew frowned.

"Come on, Patrick, don't be a git," Tim warned him. "Whether Matthew's a virgin or not is none of our business."

"I don't care if he is or he isn't," Patrick said, watching as Larry finished the joint and lit it with his cigarette lighter. "I just know that he is."

"How would you know that?" Matthew demanded.

Patrick took the joint from Larry and took a long drag. He pursed his lips and blew a plume of smoke into the air. "Because you've never told us about having a bird. In all the years I've known you, you haven't had one girlfriend. If that isn't proof that you're a virgin, I don't know what is."

"He doesn't need to have a girlfriend to have a shag," Larry shrugged, accepting the joint back from Patrick and taking a puff.

"What, you think Matthew's screwed some girl just for the hell of it?" Patrick laughed heartily. "Come on! He's saving himself for marriage, he is."

"No, I'm not!" Matthew retorted. "Has it ever occurred to you that I don't feel the need to brag the way you do?"

Patrick shrugged and took another hit before passing the joint to Tim.

"Anyway, why is this about me?" Matthew frowned. "Who says you've done it?"

"Half the girls at Heathfield," Tim joked, taking a smoke.

"You know what, Matthew, maybe I've got you all wrong. You live in Manchester. Girls over there could be pretty easy," Patrick reasoned.

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"All right, fine," Patrick laughed. "Give us a name and we'll leave you alone."

"A name?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah. A name. Tell us the name of a girl you banged and we won't bring it up again," Patrick said, taking the joint once more.

"How do we know he's not going to make one up?" Larry asked.

"I can tell when he's bullshitting," Patrick smiled. He looked intently at Matthew. "Well? Let's hear it, Matthew. Just one name from your list of conquests."

Matthew swallowed, forcing himself to keep Patrick's stare. If he looked away, it would seem as though he was lying.

"Mary," Matthew blurted out finally.

Patrick's mouth fell open. "Mary? As in, _Mary_ Mary? My cousin?"

Matthew looked at Tim and Larry. Both of them were staring at him, their eyes wide with surprise.

"Yeah," Matthew shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Mary."

"When was this?" Patrick asked incredulously.

"Last summer," Matthew said. "You were off in Hong Kong with your father."

"Wow," Patrick nodded. "I'm impressed, Matthew. I know a load of guys who have been trying to get into Mary's pants for years."

"No doubt," Larry agreed. "I even seen college blokes try and have it off with her. She just keeps shutting them down."

"For a 17-year-old, she's got some attitude," Tim smiled.

"Forget 17. Mary had attitude at 7," Patrick laughed.

"Well, just don't go around talking about it," Matthew said quickly. "It was just a one time thing. I don't want it getting out, you know, since our families are so close and everything."

"Oh, sure, no problem," Patrick smiled. "It doesn't leave this table. She'd probably slap us to hell if we said anything. But tell us, though, was she any good?"

"Patrick," a voice called.

They all turned. Matthew blushed fiercely when he realized who was standing there.

"Mary!" Larry smiled. "How are you?"

"Fine, Larry," Mary said, barely glancing at him. "Patrick, they've rang the gong. You best put that out and change your clothes before Carson gets a sniff of what you've been up to."

"Sure, of course. Thanks, Mary. Let's go, lads. Larry, do something with this roach," Patrick muttered getting up from the table.

Patrick set off for the house, with Tim and Larry trailing behind him. Matthew followed, walking alongside Mary.

"What's for dinner tonight?" Matthew asked lightly.

"Chicken, I believe," Mary replied. "I hope you weren't smoking with the others. That would be rather juvenile of you."

"No," Matthew shook his head. "I've never really had any interest."

"Of course you haven't," Mary laughed to herself before turning serious. "Now, about your revelation about the two of us having shagged…"

Matthew's eyes bulged. "You heard that?" he exclaimed, unable to compose himself in time to deny it.

"I did," Mary nodded, not looking at him. "Strange that I don't recall ever sleeping with you. You must have been quite awful in bed for me not to remember it."

Matthew blushed. "It was just talk amongst the lads, Mary. I didn't mean anything by it. It was only, you know, a joke."

"Of course it was," Mary said lightly. "And I trust that you won't allow this 'joke' to be repeated ever again, will you?"

"It's already forgotten," Matthew mumbled.

"Good," Mary nodded. "Because we both know quite well that you would never, in your wildest dreams, ever come close to having me, don't we?"

Matthew dug his hands into his pockets and stared at the grass as he continued walking. Mary quickened her pace and left him behind.

"Obviously not," Matthew mumbled to himself. "The very idea is a complete joke."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, October 2014**

"You're back," Alex said as Matthew came in through the door. "I was beginning to get concerned."

"Traffic along the Mall was a mess," Matthew muttered, throwing his shoes on the floor and unzipping his cycling jersey. Alex flipped him a bottle of water and he caught it in one hand. He flipped open the cap and guzzled a long sip as he walked towards the television.

He stopped short and lifted his head, frowning before he turned around and looked over at the garment bag hanging over the back of a chair.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Your tux," Alex said, not looking up as he perused his tablet. "For that party tonight."

"What party?" Matthew frowned, looking at Alex.

"The Pink Ribbon Ball for Breast Cancer Campaign," Alex replied easily. "Lady Grantham is one of the patrons."

"I didn't realize Cora was so involved in cancer research," Matthew shrugged.

"Not that Lady Grantham; the other Lady Grantham," Alex corrected him.

"Ah, I see," Matthew nodded. "And the family is going?"

"I think so. Lady Mary will be there, certainly. Anna mentioned that she hoped you wouldn't do anything too embarrassing," Alex smirked, still looking at his tablet screen. "I think she's afraid that things have gone so well in these first few weeks that a disaster must be looming."

"Things haven't gone that well," Matthew rolled his eyes. "The only reason Mary and I haven't properly gotten into it over anything is because we've been conveniently out of the office at different times. It's almost as though our schedules are deliberately organized to ensure we aren't within close proximity to each other, if it can be helped."

"Strange coincidence, that," Alex said, still not looking up.

Matthew chortled at his weak explanation.

"Well, I'll make an appearance at the reception, but I won't stay for long. These things are usually terribly boring," Matthew said, going over and opening the garment bag and glancing at his suit, wondering which shoes to wear with it.

"Don't you want to stick around and socialize?" Alex asked, finally looking over at him. "Lady Grantham may have a man or two lined up for Lady Mary."

"I can assure you, Alex, when it comes to Mary, she's very capable of lining up her own men, and knocking them down as well," Matthew huffed. "It's not worth watching. Did you find anything on Patrick's phone?"

"He was up to Town Hall 9 in Clash of Clans," Alex replied, looking back at his tablet.

"Well, that solves it then. He must have been killed by a rival Clan leader. Find out which teenage video gamers had it in for him and we'll find our killer," Matthew rolled his eyes, taking another sip of water. "Did you find anything useful, Alex?"

"Nothing jumped out at me, but there were some recent entries on his calendar and in his contacts list that merit some investigation," Alex said. "I'll let you know if anything becomes of it. Are you quite certain that Patrick was murdered?"

"No," Matthew shrugged. "But I'm also not certain that his death was an accident either."

"And why don't you raise your concerns with Lady Mary or Lord Grantham?" Alex asked.

"No need to bother them with this until we have something to tell," Matthew replied, turning and heading for the bedroom. "I'm going to shower."

"I'm heading back to the office," Alex said, packing up his tablet and standing up. "Have a good time tonight."

"I'm sure that I won't," Matthew called as he went into the bathroom.

 **The Natural History Museum, Kensington, London, England, October 2014**

Mary sighed as she waited in line. These events always seemed to involve lines, regardless of who you were. Lines and waiting. The cars waited in line to drop off their esteemed guests. The paparazzi waited in line, or more accurately, gathered in swarms, to take their pictures. The guests waited in line to have their pictures taken before going through. This was all a necessary evil to maintain her place on the celebrity pages and across the Internet. If she wanted to be seen, then she had to wait in line.

Not that Mary was really a celebrity, or wanted to be. Her family had always been part of the social elite, but their business was built on being inconspicuous and remaining in the background. Still, she needed a certain visibility, both to attract the rich gamblers who came to her casinos, and hold a sufficient public and political profile to advance her plans. The wealthy needed to know her face. The powerbrokers needed to know her name. It was a delicate balance that she had been navigating since she was a child. Great care had gone into selecting her designer dress and expensive jewellery for the evening, as well as her hair and makeup. She was a businesswoman, not a socialite, and she needed to be seen as elegant and glamorous, not trashy and attention seeking. She was a concerned member of the British elite coming out to support a worthy cause championed by her Granny. A gorgeous and sophisticated concerned member of the British elite, that is.

So she endured the waiting. Her mind was elsewhere anyway, going over the events of the day, the first day of the trial. She didn't know what to think. Murray had delivered his opening as rehearsed, the witnesses were examined and cross-examined, and there had been no surprises. Phil would testify later in the week. So far, very little had happened and it made Mary nervous. Matthew's calm demeanour had done nothing to allay her fears either.

"I'm sure it won't be much longer," Evelyn said, peering past the people in front of them and down the red carpet. "There's only a few more before we reach the photographers."

Mary smiled politely and nodded to him. Sweet, boring Evelyn. He often accompanied her to charity events, his quiet and unassuming nature allowed her to shine more brightly, and he knew enough people in their circles that she could leave him for long stretches to go and mingle with the more important guests that she wanted to talk to. If this was a political fundraiser or a Society Ball, she would either attend alone or with someone more to her taste. But, for warm and fuzzy charity gatherings where she wanted to appear more normal, Evelyn fit the bill.

When it was finally her turn, Mary released Evelyn's arm and nudged him away. He walked past the cameras unnoticed and over to the next line. Mary stepped forward into the glare of the lights. She stood at an angle, allowing the different photographers to capture her dress and figure from all sides. They shouted her name and asked her to look this way and that, and she ignored them, turning her head here and there, smiling kindly all the while. When she deemed she'd posed long enough, she walked briskly away, rejoining Evelyn on the other side.

"You were stunning," Evelyn smiled.

"Thank you," Mary replied, offering nothing more.

"I hope your sisters didn't have as much trouble with the crowds," Evelyn said.

"Oh, they came through a while ago," Mary said. "I'm glad they went in before me, actually. Anyone coming now will be stuck for an hour behind that mob."

"Mary," a voice called.

Mary turned and blinked as Matthew arrived next to her. His hair was immaculately styled, slicked back but not overly done. She looked quickly down his frame, noticing the tailored Armani tuxedo and the silver pocket square, which accented his blue eyes.

"Matthew," Mary exclaimed. "How long have you been waiting? I didn't see you in line."

"Oh, I've just arrived," Matthew nodded, glancing over at Evelyn before looking back at Mary. "I was able to skip through the line. No one wants a photo of me, thankfully."

"Indeed," Mary said. She reached out and took hold of Evelyn's arm again, giving Matthew a brilliant smile.

"Oh, where are my manners?" she grinned. "Matthew Crawley, the Honourable Viscount Branksome."

"Evelyn," Evelyn said, shaking Matthew's hand.

"Pleasure," Matthew nodded.

"Matthew doesn't particularly care for these types of events. He detests dressing up and mingling," Mary laughed, leaning a bit closer to Evelyn.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Evelyn offered helpfully. "If you can stay awake through the speeches, it's all smooth sailing from there."

"I'll remember that," Matthew said. He glanced at Mary's hand still tightly wrapped around Evelyn's arm. "Well, I think I'll head in and say hello to Lady Grantham. Nice to meet you, Evelyn. Mary."

"Matthew," she said, watching as he turned and left. She loosened her grip on Evelyn's arm.

"Why don't you go in and see who's here?" Evelyn suggested. "I'll get you a drink."

"Yes, I think I will," Mary smiled at him. She released his arm and strode purposefully through the doors.

* * *

Matthew stayed awake during the speeches…barely. He knew it was rude to look at his smartphone, so he had kept his attention on the speakers, even as his eyes grew heavy. Violet Crawley's clipped tone snapped him back to wakefulness, but her speech was sadly too short and Matthew had to drink several glasses of water just to keep occupied.

Eventually, the speeches ended and the floor was opened for dancing and mingling. Suppressing the urge to beat a hasty retreat, Matthew forced himself to pay his respects to Violet, and to share a quick word with Sybil and Edith.

"Have you at least tried to talk to people?" Sybil asked, sipping her drink.

"Of course," Matthew said indignantly. "I spoke with a few blokes just now."

"Have you at least tried to talk to people who aren't the wait staff?" Sybil teased.

Matthew ran his hand through his hair sheepishly and smiled at her.

"Where's Mary gone off to?" Edith asked, looking about the room.

"I'm sure she's around here somewhere, probably with Viscount Branksome fawning all over her," Matthew muttered.

Sybil laughed and shook her head at him.

"What?" Matthew asked.

"Nothing," Sybil sighed. "For your information, Evelyn is an old family friend. I'm surprised the two of you never met until now. Anyway, you don't need to worry about him. Mary's never fancied him, not even remotely."

"It's no matter to me who she fancies," Matthew scoffed. "I couldn't care less."

Sybil and Edith shared a knowing glance and sipped their drinks as Matthew looked around the room.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, October 2014**

"I thought you'd be at the Ball with Mr. Crawley," Anna frowned, leaning against the doorway.

"No, Matthew can handle a Ball on his own," Alex replied, looking up from his desk. "I thought you'd be there with Lady Mary."

"If Mary knows how to do anything, it's how to navigate her way through a Ball," Anna chuckled. "She's been to more Balls in her lifetime than I can count."

"I'll bet she has," Alex smiled.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Anna frowned.

"Nothing. It means that I agree with you," Alex said easily.

"You're not in any position to agree or disagree with me," Anna huffed. "You don't know Mary. Not the way I do."

"I didn't realize that personal knowledge was required to opine on whether the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham had attended her fair share of Balls," Alex said, looking at Anna quizzically.

"Just because she goes to Balls doesn't mean she isn't a capable businesswoman as well," Anna said.

"When did I ever suggest otherwise?" Alex asked, smiling a bit too widely for Anna's taste. "I quite admire how Lady Mary finds time for such a busy social calendar amidst all her business endeavours."

"You know, you're just like everyone else that we come up against," Anna rolled her eyes. "You see a woman in an executive position and it must be because she's someone's daughter, or she slept with someone, or she's the requisite office eye candy. It never occurs to you that she earned her way to where she is on her own merit."

Alex furrowed his brow for a brief second. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Lady Mary go into the family business straight out of university?"

"Yes, after she graduated at the top of her class from London Business School," Anna countered. "The point is she'd be just as successful whether her last name was Crawley or not."

"But it certainly helps that she is a Crawley, doesn't it?" Alex smirked.

"You'd be surprised," Anna shrugged. "Sometimes I think it's a burden that she could do without. It distracts people from her true value. Just like how we always had to deal with Mr. Patrick and his staff, even though it was obvious they hadn't a clue what they were doing, or how to go about running a successful operation. They had just as much of a say as we did, even though they didn't deserve it, all because Lord Grantham said so."

"Well, then it must be a relief that you no longer need to work with them," Alex nodded.

"I wouldn't say that, not yet," Anna said coldly. "I haven't made up my mind about Mr. Crawley, or you."

"What is there to decide?" Alex asked. "You've known Matthew almost as long as I have."

"I know he was overseeing operations in Manchester and I've seen him once or twice a year when he came to London. That's it. I don't know anything about how he works or if he even knows what he's doing," Anna stated.

"He does," Alex nodded. "I'm sure that Lady Mary told you about the little demonstration he gave at his welcome dinner last month? He didn't make those numbers up. In the past six years, we've destroyed our projected targets every year, obliterated them in fact."

"Congratulations," Anna said sarcastically. "It isn't all about making money, you know."

"Aren't we in the gambling business? Making money is the only thing that matters," Alex said.

"Of course you would say that," Anna rolled her eyes.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Alex asked lightly.

"This isn't just a city business, despite what you think," Anna said. "The Crawley name goes back generations. It's a corporation now, but it was a family first. A family that took care of its own, through plague, war, even insolvency. Mary isn't in this for the money. She works as hard as she does because this place isn't just a pile of bricks, and this company isn't just a set of financial statements to her. It represents her family legacy."

Alex frowned slightly, considering her words.

"Not that you or Mr. Crawley would care anything about that," Anna shook her head.

"Is that so?" Alex smiled. "Because we're a couple of computer nerds who hide behind monitors and gleefully wring our hands as the money pours in, is that it?"

"I didn't say that," Anna retorted.

"But you were thinking it," Alex stated. "That's what affronts you and Lady Mary so much, isn't it? You work yourselves to the bone, not just to make this place a success, but to carry Patrick's woeful operation along with yours, and honour the Crawley name. Now here comes Matthew, the golden boy riding in on his gilded stallion, and with a few clicks of his mouse, he suddenly can do no wrong, cash is King, and all the blood, sweat and tears that Lady Mary has poured out over the years means nothing in all this."

"You said it yourself," Anna replied. "The two of you love making money."

"That doesn't mean Matthew didn't have to work for everything he's got," Alex said. "Or that he's completely ignorant to the Crawley family traditions."

"I'm going home. Good night," Anna shook her head, turning away from the door.

"Anna," Alex called.

"Yes?" Anna turned and looked back at him in annoyance.

"Matthew may not be related to the Crawleys, but he practically grew up with them for all the times he went to Downton," Alex said firmly. "He never asked to be brought here. Lord Grantham invited him, presumably because he trusts Matthew with the very family legacy that you speak of. You might want to remember that."

Anna turned and left, her heels clicking across the floor as she made her way to the elevator.

 **The Natural History Museum, Kensington, London, England, October 2014**

"Ah, there you are. Just the man I've been looking for."

Matthew turned around and blinked in surprise as Mary smiled at him. He put his phone away and gave her his full attention.

"Really?" he asked.

"Of course," Mary nodded. "You weren't leaving already, were you?" she asked, looking at the coat check token in his hand.

"Oh, no," Matthew said, putting the token back in his pocket and smiling at her.

"Good," Mary said crisply. "Come along. I want you to meet someone who you should know if you're going to be working with us."

Matthew shook his head as he followed after her.

Mary brought him across the room to a high-top table where a man stood waiting for them. He resembled most of the other well-heeled gentlemen in the room, except he was a bit older than most. His gelled hair and hawkish eyes made it look as though he wore a permanent scowl. The man smiled as Mary approached, then cast an appraising look at Matthew.

"Matthew Crawley, Sir Richard Carlisle. Sir Richard, Matthew Crawley, our new Managing Director," Mary said, making the introductions.

"Sir Richard," Matthew nodded, shaking the older man's hand.

"Mr. Crawley," Richard said. "Or should I perhaps call you Matthew?"

"Whichever you prefer," Matthew said politely.

"Sir Richard owns the Daily Express, as well as several television networks across the world," Mary explained, looking from Richard to Matthew.

"Ah, so you're the Carlisle in Carlisle World Media Group," Matthew noted.

"The one and the same," Richard nodded, smiling at Mary. "I am known to dabble in other industries though."

"Sir Richard is a rival," Mary smiled. "His company owns the Grosvenor Casinos brand."

"Ah," Matthew said. "And how is business?"

"Quite good, thank you," Richard nodded. "Though I suppose I should be afraid. Your arrival is meant to make life difficult for me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I doubt that," Matthew chuckled, glancing at Mary. "There's surely enough room in London for all of the various factions, isn't there?"

"Perhaps," Richard nodded. "Though someone does have to be at the top of the table."

"I've always felt that the Grosvenor Casinos are exactly what a chain should be," Matthew said. "Once you've been in one of them, it's as though you've been in all of them."

"Thank you," Richard replied, his eyes narrowing. "And how are you finding London?"

"It's as I remembered it," Matthew replied. "Perhaps a bit more cutthroat than before."

"An astute observation," Richard smiled. "Although on nights like these, it's nice to keep in mind that there's still room for charity, when it's convenient, of course."

"You're charitable when it's convenient for you, are you?" Matthew asked.

"Oh, I never do anything unless it's entirely at my convenience, Mr. Crawley," Richard smiled.

Matthew smiled tightly at the remark.

"Can I interest you in a drink?" Richard asked, raising his own glass of Scotch.

"Oh, no thank you," Matthew said, raising his hand. "I've about had it, I think. Good evening, Sir Richard. Mary," Matthew said, bowing his head and walking away.

"That's Patrick's replacement?" Richard asked, watching Matthew disappear into the crowd.

"Yes," Mary said, her eyes glancing over to where Matthew had wandered off to.

"Surely your father can't favour him over you, can he, my dear?" Richard asked. "I can't imagine Matthew Crawley knows how to navigate around our world."

"Nothing's decided as of yet," Mary said lightly. "And Matthew is rather clever, actually."

"He doesn't show it, though I suppose stranger things have happened," Richard frowned. "Now, about this trial that you're involved in. Is there no prospect of settlement?"

"Are you asking for your own personal interest, as a casino owner, or as a newspaper man?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"All of the above," Richard smiled.

"No comment," Mary smiled. "You already know the trial's started. I'll leave it at that."

"Well, I'll be going then," Richard nodded. "Have a lovely evening, Mary."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Mary stood still, giving Sir Richard a polite smile as he turned and left.

"There you are," Evelyn said, coming to Mary's side. "Fancy a walk? I wanted to look over the auction items."

"A brilliant idea," Mary said, smiling as she took his arm. As Evelyn escorted her towards the long tables displaying the auction items, she looked across the room briefly, seeing no sign of Matthew.

 **Infinity Skypool, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, October 2014**

Matthew cut through the water, angling his arms so his hands sliced through the surface with each stroke. The pool was only eleven metres long, and was designed for casual swims and wading around enjoying the magnificent views from the 52nd floor of the building, rather than proper laps. At well past midnight though, Matthew wasn't interested in the views. He counted off the laps in his head, kicking through the water and trying not to hurt himself when he reached the shallow area and flipped around to go again.

After 50 laps, his legs and arms burned exactly how he wanted them to. He pulled himself up out of the pool and sat on the deck, struggling to catch his breath as he looked at the lights of the London Eye sitting motionless in the distance. Eventually his breathing calmed, even though his anger and frustration still festered.

"The pool is closed, sir. You shouldn't be in here."

Matthew rolled his eyes and grunted as a towel was handed to him over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the towel and lazily drying his hair as water continued to slide down his body.

"Must have been some Ball for you to come here to work things out," Alex said.

"What makes you think I'm working anything out?" Matthew asked, still looking out the window. "Maybe I just felt like having a swim?"

"If you say so," Alex smiled. He walked over and sat down on one of the lounge chairs placed at poolside.

"What happened to you tonight?" Matthew asked. "You said in your last text that you had a date."

"I had to reschedule it for tomorrow night. I was working late," Alex replied.

"Hope she wasn't too disappointed," Matthew smirked.

"Not as much as she will be when she finally meets me," Alex said.

Matthew looked up at him curiously.

"Think she's got what you want?" he asked.

"I'd be willing to bet money on it," Alex nodded.

Matthew chuckled and went back to looking out at the panoramic view of London.

"You don't want to talk about it," Alex declared.

"No, I don't," Matthew shook his head.

"And you don't think anything will change?" Alex asked.

"No, nothing," Matthew said tightly.

"Including you?" Alex inquired.

"Yes, including wretched, stupid me," Matthew sighed.

"So what now?" Alex asked.

Matthew got up from the deck and wiped his arms and legs quickly with the towel. He put on his robe and slippers and threw the towel into the laundry hamper.

"I'm due back in Court in the morning," Matthew said on his way out the door. "Good night, Alex."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, October 2014**

Mary frowned as she stared at the computer screen. The words were becoming blurry, she'd been at it for so long. The trial was effectively over, with closing arguments tomorrow. All indications were the Judge was going to render his decision shortly after. Their fate, win or lose, would be decided in the morning. She sat in the courtroom with Murray and listened to Phil explain how he didn't cheat, had only taken advantage of the circumstances available to him and his accomplice, and essentially implied that it was Crockfords' own fault for not properly protecting themselves. The message was a simple one and Mary knew it well - they'd fucked up, and now they should pay for it.

"If Murray worked half as hard as you do, we'd have nothing to worry about."

Mary looked up from her desk and laughed ruefully at Matthew standing in the doorway of her office.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you'd have gone home long ago," she asked, turning back to her computer monitors and going over her notes from the past two days of the trial. Murray had prepared a brief as part of his closing argument, with cross references to the documentary evidence and the witness testimony. She'd already read it a dozen times and had a list of questions and comments that was on to the second page.

"I'm waiting on the results of some games from over in North America to finish; baseball playoffs mainly," Matthew shrugged, coming into her office. "I had dinner sent up for you."

Mary looked up and arched her eyebrow as Matthew placed a plastic take-away container on her desk. She looked at it suspiciously as he placed cutlery and napkins down beside it.

"Go on," Matthew smiled. "I'll even have the first bite to prove to you I haven't poisoned it."

Mary shook her head and opened the lid slowly. Her eyes lit up at what she discovered.

"A fry-up? Wherever did you get this?" Mary asked him, smiling at the eggs, sausage, ham, potatoes and tomatoes arranged together.

"I had the kitchens whip it up," Matthew explained, taking a seat in front of her desk. "Surprisingly, I didn't have much convincing to do to have them cook you breakfast at eleven o'clock at night."

"You've put the fear of God into them," Mary smiled. "You should hear some of the things they say about you. Apparently you're a bona fide slave driver."

"I've heard worse, dragon lady," Matthew smiled.

"Ah, yes," Mary smirked. "I eat small children and change boyfriends the way most people change clothes. Everyone wonders how Anna has lasted so long given what a horrid boss I must be."

"And yet you do nothing to correct that perception," Matthew noted.

"Why would I?" Mary asked. "I don't have a heart. Everyone knows that."

"Perhaps because it's to your advantage that they view you that way?" Matthew said, raising his eyebrow.

Mary became engrossed with her food.

"Mmm, I love breakfast, I must say," Mary nodded, savouring the taste of a rather intricately composed bite of ham, potato and egg.

"I know," Matthew smiled, sipping his Coke. "Anna told me."

"You asked her what food I would want at this hour?" Mary asked in surprise.

"Who else would know better? You haven't eaten since we had sandwiches for lunch outside the Courthouse," Matthew said.

Mary blinked. She knew he was right. She just didn't expect him to have paid attention.

"I was rather put out when she texted me that you loved a good fry-up," Matthew continued. "I pictured you throwing it at me and how messy it would be."

Mary laughed. "You needn't worry. I wouldn't waste perfectly good food on you. Besides, we wouldn't want to ruin your bespoke Armani suit, now would we?"

"Not so soon after I've learned to tie a proper double Windsor," Matthew smirked, looking at his smartphone as he sipped his drink.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Mary continued to eat and look over her trial notes while Matthew read reports from his websites on his smartphone.

'Get out of here' his mind railed against him. 'What are you even doing here anyway? Nothing will come of being nice to her. You tried that before, remember? Nothing will change.'

"What do you think about tomorrow, Matthew? Honestly?" Mary asked, slumping back in her chair.

He looked up at her and shoved his doubts to the side yet again.

"He was a very credible witness when he was on the stand," Matthew said. "Which is no surprise, because he genuinely does believe that what he did wasn't cheating. The only opinion that matters though, is that of the Judge. The Judge may have little sympathy for the big casino corporation, but I can't see too much empathy for the millionaire gambler either. We've got a chance, Mary. You have to believe that."

"I do," Mary nodded. "And what have you been reporting to Papa?"

"The truth," Matthew said nonchalantly. "That things are going as we expected and that we're in with a shot."

"Murray's probably telling him that I've been making a nuisance of myself," Mary muttered, shaking her head.

"Actually, Robert told me that Murray was singing your praises. He told Robert that you've been sharp throughout and entirely attentive."

"Goodness," Mary smiled. "What a testimonial."

"I'm not surprised," Matthew replied. "It's along the same lines as what I've told Robert as well."

Mary blinked, then looked down at her hands.

"I just wonder where it ends?" she said softly. "Even if we do win, there will be an appeal, and who knows how this will play in public? I tend to think people won't see us as trying to protect our reputation. They're more likely to see us as greedy bastards who lost to a smarter player and now won't pay him his winnings."

"Oh, I don't know," Matthew shook his head. "If this inspires others to come out and try to take us down, that might work to our advantage. The more people who think they can win when they step in here, the better."

"As long as we don't get played for fools again," Mary muttered.

"Well you won't let that happen, will you?" Matthew said.

Mary looked up at him, finally allowing herself to smile after several seconds.

"No, we won't," she said finally. Her eyes met his and returned his stare.

"Wrap this up, Mary," Matthew said, getting up from his chair. "Murray is the one presenting our closing argument, not you. Finish eating, go home, and go to sleep. I'll see you at Court in the morning."

Matthew turned and walked towards the door.

"Matthew," Mary called. Her voice stopped him and made him turn around at the doorway.

"Thank you…for the food," Mary said quietly.

"Any time," Matthew nodded. He left and went to the elevator.

Mary watched him go. She didn't look back at her computer monitors until after the elevator doors had closed behind him.

 **The Connaught Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, October 2014**

Amy wandered down the brightly lit hallway, glancing at the plush carpet and the fine wallpaper. She loved when work brought her to The Connaught. It was rare that she had a client who could afford this place, but one night here gave her enough memories to last a few months, to say nothing for the money. She played with the key card as she arrived at the suite. Whoever this guy was, if he could afford a night in The Prince's Lodge suite, he must have some serious cash. Even if he was rubbish in bed, she would at least have a wonderful meal, the best drinks, and a warm bath before leaving in the morning.

She came in and found her client already in the large bedroom. He stood looking out the window, his back to her. He was tall, with black hair and an athletic build if his square shoulders and tight butt were any indication. His suit looked expensive. Amy idly hoped he was a decent shag.

"Take off your coat and go sit on the bed," the man said.

Amy blinked in surprise, then quickly recovered. The man got straight to business. Fine. She could handle that. Small talk was overrated in these situations. So he didn't want the girlfriend experience. So much the better.

She eased out of her coat and walked over to the large four poster king size bed. She sat down and watched her client, who still had not turned around.

"The dress as well," he said.

Amy smirked as she undid the zip on the side of her dress and took it off. He liked to be in control. Well, she had no problem with that. He had booked her for the night. He got to call the shots.

She crossed one long stockinged leg over the other, hoping he appreciated the red bra and panties she'd picked out. She left her heels on, just in case he was the type who liked his women that way.

Alex turned around and looked her over, his eyes travelling from her black pumps, up her stockings, across her pale skin, past her green eyes and finally to the red hair that adorned her head. She looked young, he thought, but then again, what age was appropriate for this type of work? He had to admit that she was far prettier than he expected, though she was a bit on the skinny side. He couldn't see a mark or flaw on her skin, save a dusting of freckles above her cleavage and across her arms.

"So what'll it be?" Amy asked sultrily, giving him a wide smile. "You can put it anywhere, you know."

Alex walked over to the bed. She parted her legs as he stood in front of her, arching her back and pushing her breasts towards him. He was gorgeous. The fact that such a good looking bloke was paying her for it made her shiver with excitement.

"I want you to do everything I say, all night if that's how long it takes," he said, gazing down at her.

She looked up at him, moving her arms behind her back in obedience.

"Yes, sir," she drawled.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Whatever you want it to be," she breathed.

"What's your name?" he repeated, his eyes piercing hers.

"Amy," she whispered.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She frowned for a moment. What was he playing at?

"It's Amy," she repeated.

"Are you quite sure, Ethel?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes went wide for a split second before she recovered.

"Who's Ethel?" she asked, stonefaced.

"You are," he said firmly. "Ethel Parks, formerly of Wolverhampton, now living in Essex. Graduated from Queen Mary University of London with a diploma in Dental Hygiene and Therapy. You work for a Dr. Charles Bryant in Clerkenwell by day, and by night...well, we know what you do by night, don't we?"

"Who are you?" Ethel asked, recoiling away from him and putting her arm across her lace-covered breasts. "Are you a bloody copper?"

"No," he laughed. "Just a man with some questions. Answer them truthfully and this room is yours for the night, and you won't need to do any 'work'."

Ethel eyed him suspiciously. "Questions about what?"

Alex reached into his inside pocket and took out a smartphone. He unlocked the screen and handed it to Ethel.

Ethel took the phone and looked at the display. Her mouth fell open and she gasped out loud.

"Tell me everything you know about Patrick Crawley," Alex demanded firmly.

 **High Court of Justice, The Strand, Westminster, London, England, October 2014**

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Queen's Justice of the High Court of Justice, speak now and ye shall be heard! Long live the Queen! Please be seated," the clerk announced.

Mary took her seat next to Murray at the counsel table. High Court Justice Sir John Mitting adjusted the glasses on his nose and peered down at his papers. Mary had still not gotten used to seeing a grown man wearing a white wig in the courtroom, but she at least no longer had the urge to burst out laughing or frown at the sight. She had referred to the Judge as Professor Dumbledore during lunch on the first day and that had drawn a frown from Murray and a scolding from Matthew.

Justice Mitting cleared his throat and the courtroom fell silent.

"I will be sending full written reasons to counsel later today. My endorsement reads as follows," the Judge announced.

Mary swallowed, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap.

Matthew leaned forward, folding his hands together in front of him. He looked from the Judge to the back of Mary's perfectly coiffed hair and up to the Judge again. Sitting in the last row of the courtroom, Matthew was just one of many interested observers, but the ruling would have far more consequences for him than any of the other people in the gallery today.

Justice Mitting began reading his reasons, going over introductions and preamble before getting to the meat of the decision.

"The claimant is a professional gambler and a citizen of the United States. He is acknowledged to be one of the world's finest Poker players, a game which requires high mathematical ability and stern discipline…"

Matthew glanced over at the Plaintiff's table. Truthfully, he had a lot of respect for Phil, and wondered how this all would have played out if he had been involved from the outset, rather than Patrick. Though Matthew didn't enjoy being taken advantage of any more than the next man, he liked to think he was more adept at smoothing things over than Patrick ever was. Then again, Mary had already tried that route, and the matter had still come to this.

"He was manipulating the game in circumstances in which he knew that the dealer and her superiors did not realise the consequence of what she had done at his instigation. Accordingly he converted a game in which knowledge of both sides as to likelihood that player or banker will win – in principle nil – was equal, into a game in which his knowledge is greater than that of the croupier and greater than that which she would reasonably have expected it to be."

Mary realized that she was holding her breath. She forced herself to exhale quietly. Everything sounded good so far, at least as much as she could tell. It was amazing how lawyers and judges could take simple English words and twist them into a statement that sounded as though it were from another language.

"This in my view is cheating for the purposes of civil law. It is immaterial that the casino could have protected itself against it by simple measures. The casino can protect itself by simple measures against cheating or legitimate advantage play. The fact that it can do so does not determine which it is."

Matthew blinked.

"For the reasons which I have given, this claim fails," Justice Mitting declared in conclusion.

Murray smiled and looked down at his papers. The Plaintiff shook his head in annoyance and there were murmurs throughout the gallery.

Mary turned her head and stole a glance to the back of the courtroom. She found knowing blue eyes staring back at her.

She smiled and arched her eyebrow at Matthew before turning back to the Judge.

* * *

When the trial was over, Mary left quickly through a side entrance and was in the back of the Mercedes before the reporters gathered on the front steps of the Courthouse. The car was already en route back to the office by the time a PR lackey read off a prepared statement for the media. The statement spoke of how Crockfords regretted that the matter had to be made public given their policy of respecting the privacy of their clients, and underlined their exemplary reputation for fair, honest and professional conduct. The statement read just as Mary had written it. Time would tell if it would play well with the public. With an appeal almost certainly looming, Mary didn't want to bother thinking about the future just yet. For now, they had won.

"Congratulations, Mary," Anna said, smiling at her from the front seat.

"Thank you," Mary nodded. "In the end, it played out just as Matthew said it would."

"Mr. Crawley didn't end up being as bothersome during the trial as you originally thought he would be," Anna said.

"No, he wasn't," Mary shrugged, turning her head to look out the window. "There may be hope for him yet, but don't tell him I said so."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Judge's reasons taken from the decision in _Ivey_ v. _Genting Casinos UK Ltd (t/a Crockfords Club)_ [2014] EWHC 3394 (QB).


	4. Chapter 4

**Previously:**

 **High Court of Justice, The Strand, Westminster, London, England, October 2014**

When the trial was over, Mary left quickly through a side entrance and was in the back of the Mercedes before the reporters gathered on the front steps of the Courthouse. The car was already en route back to the office by the time a PR lackey read off a prepared statement for the media. The statement spoke of how Crockfords regretted that the matter had to be made public given their policy of respecting the privacy of their clients, and underlined their exemplary reputation for fair, honest and professional conduct. The statement read just as Mary had written it. Time would tell if it would play well with the public. With an appeal almost certainly looming, Mary didn't want to bother thinking about the future just yet. For now, they had won.

"Congratulations, Mary," Anna said, smiling at her from the front seat.

"Thank you," Mary nodded. "In the end, it played out just as Matthew said it would."

"Mr. Crawley didn't end up being as bothersome during the trial as you originally thought he would be," Anna said.

"No, he wasn't," Mary shrugged, turning her head to look out the window. "There may be hope for him yet, but don't tell him I said so."

 **Chapter 4:**

 **The Balcony, Galvin at Windows Restaurant, Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London, England, October 2014**

Thomas Barrow sat nervously at the sumptuous dining table. His fingers fidgeted and he had to clasp his hands together to stop them from shaking. God, he needed a cigarette. He considered lighting up right then and there, even though it was surely illegal inside the expensive private dining room. Then again, perhaps getting kicked out of the restaurant was his best option at the moment.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How had everything gone so pear shaped in the past two months? He had a good scheme going at Crockfords, or so he thought. He was skimming a few hundred quid a week, along with all the drinks and smokes he could handle, and no one was the wiser. He knew that bitch Lady Mary didn't care too much for him, but Mr. Patrick liked him well enough, enough to leave him alone anyway. And he had plenty of eye candy too. That one dealer, Jimmy. Right fit, that one. O'Brien had even mentioned to Thomas that Jimmy might bat for the other team too, at least when he was drunk enough, anyway. Thomas didn't mind one way or another. It was enough to get to look. He liked to go elsewhere for that sort of thing anyway.

He should have been content with his lot, Thomas thought, shaking his head. Supplementing his wages by keeping tips and accepting bribes to rig the games was decent enough, but Thomas had to get greedy last year. His cousin had a hot tip on a small company developing a drug that was about to be approved by the government. Get in before the news broke and when the stock blew up, he'd be rich. So he poured everything he had into it and waited for the windfall. But it was all a scam. The company never made it to clinical trials. Months later the stock stopped trading and the company went under, Thomas' money vanishing with the crooks who had fed his stupid cousin the bait in the first place. He had to borrow money from some rather unsavoury characters to make ends meet, had to take a few more risks at work to nick a few extra hundred quid to make the payments on his loans, and he found himself stuck in an endless cycle of robbing from Peter to pay Paul.

Looking back, it would have been better to keep that up than what he ended up doing.

Which brought him here, to the fancy private dining room on the 28th floor of the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane. When that damn Matthew Crawley had come in and sacked him on the spot, Thomas wanted to get out of London as fast as he could. He thought about heading to India. He had family still living in Mumbai and he liked it there, preferred the hot weather to the cold and rain of England. But he didn't get out fast enough, and so here he sat.

"Mr. Barrow," a smooth voice called, and Thomas stood up and forced a smile across his lips, nodding respectfully to his lunch companion.

"Sir Richard," Thomas said quietly. "Good day to you."

"A fine day, isn't it, Thomas?" Richard smiled, taking his time to look out the large windows at Hyde Park and the city beyond. "I've always loved the Fall. Don't you?"

"I'm more of a Summer fan, meself, Sir Richard," Thomas muttered.

"Ah," Richard smiled. "Well, your preferences always were quite different from mine."

Food and drinks were served and Thomas picked at his salad. He didn't speak until he was spoken to, and Richard usually liked to finish his starter course before striking up any conversation. Thomas supposed that it was because he enjoyed putting his guests off, making them feel uncomfortable as the meal went on without a spoken word. Well, mission accomplished, Thomas thought.

Richard put his fork down on his plate. He took a sip of Scotch, then reached into the inside pocket of his blazer jacket and took out a thick envelope. Thomas' eyes widened as he watched Richard set the envelope down on his side of the table.

"I believe you'll find this sufficient to pay your debts," Richard said lightly, keeping his hand on the envelope.

"Thank you, Sir Richard," Thomas replied. He knew better than to reach across the table for the envelope.

"Now, tell me about what happened on your last day of work at Crockfords," Richard said. "Every detail."

Thomas swallowed and looked at the man's cold blue eyes. His eyes were always a dark blue, almost grey, Thomas thought. If eyes were the window to a man's soul, then there was a veritable storm brewing within Sir Richard Carlisle.

Thomas repeated his story once more. He told Richard about how the day had begun like any normal day, until a tall, dark haired man had shown up in the employee break room with two security guards and asked for Thomas and a dozen other employees to come upstairs to the boardroom with them. Thomas thought it was some sort of training exercise or meeting until Matthew Crawley announced that he, O'Brien, and five other employees were all terminated. No explanation given. Just a curt 'You are no longer required as part of our operations' and they were all taken back downstairs to clean out their lockers.

"And you received your package shortly thereafter?" Richard asked.

"Yes, sir," Thomas nodded. "There was a detailed list of everything that I'd done, photographs of me pocketing chips from the tables, charts of how much money I'd taken over the years, down to the last pound. What choice did I have? I just signed the Release and hoped they'd leave me alone."

"And the other sacked employees?" Richard asked.

"Same thing happened to them, from what I heard," Thomas shrugged. "When we all left the casino, we were raring for a fight. People were talking big about how it was an unfair dismissal, going to ACAS, the whole bit. But then everyone got their packages in the post, and people quieted down right quick."

"And did you ever hear from Mr. Crawley again, Thomas?" Richard asked.

"No, sir," Thomas shook his head. "The only time I ever seen him was that day that he took my job away, sir."

"And how would you describe Mr. Crawley, Thomas?" Richard asked.

Thomas paused. He hadn't spent more than five minutes with the man, to be honest.

"No nonsense, sir," Thomas said finally. "Direct and to the point. Looked us all in the eye. No emotion at all."

Richard nodded. He slid the envelope across the table to Thomas. Thomas snatched it and put it in his inside pocket. He didn't dare count the money in front of Sir Richard.

"Well, best of luck to you, Thomas," Richard nodded. "We'll be in touch if we need you."

"Yes, sir," Thomas said quickly. He rose from the table and bowed, then backed away and walked briskly from the room.

Richard sipped his Scotch. He had to admit that 'no nonsense' was not the impression he got of Matthew Crawley when he met him two weeks ago at that charity ball, but that was obviously by design. He wanted everyone to see him as the unassuming, boring man from Manchester brought in to push paper while Lady Mary and Lord Grantham held the true power in the company. Richard admired the man's ruthlessness. Cleaning house on the very first day that he took command, and ensuring that the fired employees would go away quietly without a hint of protest. It was a more subtle approach than the one Richard would have taken, but it worked. The real question though, was how had Matthew Crawley uncovered the corrupt employees in such a short time when the rest of the Crawleys had been entirely unaware for years?

Matthew Crawley was apparently quite meticulous. He searched out problems down to the minutest detail and solved them with devastating efficiency. Every organization had waste, particularly those in the world that the Crawleys and Sir Richard lived in. Most made allowance for it, accepting inefficiency as the cost of doing business. Matthew Crawley seemed to prefer a surgeon's approach - cut and excise the problem immediately until all trace of disease was gone.

Richard finished his Scotch and waved the server over to refill his glass. He looked out the window at the city below, stroking his chin in contemplation. It seemed that Matthew Crawley was going to be a larger problem than he originally thought.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, October 2014**

"Mary, what is this?" Matthew asked, frowning as he came into her office.

"What is what?" Mary asked, looking up as he placed a folder on her desk. She flipped open the folder and smiled.

"Ah, Anna sent you the designs for the new uniforms for the Colony Club. What do you think?" Mary asked.

"I don't see why we need to change the uniforms. The old ones were perfectly fine," Matthew said, sitting down on a chair on the other side of her desk.

"Except for the fact that we had numerous employee complaints that the material was too itchy and particularly warm in Summer," Mary replied. "Anyway, it's a minor expense, and I think updating the look of our staff was long overdue."

"Don't you think that the servers' outfits are a bit too…" Matthew struggled.

"A bit too…?" Mary shook her head, waiting for him to finish.

"Revealing?" he spit out.

Mary frowned and looked at the designs once more.

"No," she shrugged. "It's no more revealing than what you would see at any nightclub at the weekend, and far classier at that. I wear tighter clothes to my yoga class."

"We're not in the yoga business, Mary," Matthew shook his head.

"What are you bothered about?" Mary laughed incredulously. "We've had no complaints from the employees and I expect the customers will be quite pleased with the new designs."

"I just don't see why we need to resort to…" Matthew hesitated.

"Resort to…?" Mary asked, lifting her hands to get him to talk.

"Using sex to sell our brand," Matthew said, swallowing slightly.

Mary smiled and sat back in her chair.

"Matthew, why do you think people like to gamble at a casino?" she asked.

"To win money, of course," Matthew replied automatically.

"There are many ways to win money," she said. "They could play the lottery, go to the races and bet on horses, invest in the stock market, any number of other options. Why go to a casino?"

"There's more of an illusion of control," Matthew said. "When you play your cards, or bet on a number, or play a slot machine, you're making a choice, and you think that you have some impact on the result."

"Yes, that's true," Mary nodded, standing up from her chair. "But why go to a casino for that? People could play poker with their mates at home, or gamble online. Why do they come to us?"

Matthew watched as she circled around her desk and came over to him. She was wearing a thin silk blouse and a black pencil skirt that matched her high heels. He lost his train of thought for a moment, preoccupied by her stepping behind his chair and out of his vision.

"Convenience?" he suggested finally. His collar suddenly felt rather tight, as did his pants.

"It's hardly more convenient to go to a casino when you could play the same games sitting at home in your underwear," Mary said lightly.

Matthew felt her hands on the back of his chair. He stopped himself from turning around or craning his neck to look at her. He swallowed and his stomach tightened when he felt her breath against his cheek.

"Gratification, Matthew," she whispered in his ear. "They come to us for the promise of what we can offer them. Bright lights. Luxury. Cold drinks. Beautiful women. The thrill of winning. When they come to our casinos, we make them feel as though they are the Masters of all they survey. In that moment, when the roulette wheel is still spinning, when the slots are still turning, when the cards are still being dealt, everything is possible. Their wildest fantasies are one more number, one more card, one more throw of the dice away from coming true. And that's why they keep coming back, because the next time could be their time at last. We're not only selling sex. Money. Sex. Power. It's all within their grasp with just one more bet. We're selling an all-encompassing, life-changing fantasy. Come play with us, and you're one jackpot away from being able to have anything, do anything, be anything you desire."

Matthew sat in stunned silence as Mary raised up and walked back around her desk and returned to her seat. She closed the folder and slid it across back to Matthew. Turning to her computer monitors, she became very interested in whatever was on the screen.

"So, you see, these new uniforms are very much an important part of the brand. I'll tell Anna that we both approve the designs. They should be ready by the end of the month," Mary said crisply, not looking at him.

Matthew blinked several times, then got up from his chair. He took the folder and slowly turned for the door.

"When you put it that way, it seems a sound decision, yes. Very well, then. Erm...carry on," he mumbled before leaving her office.

Mary smiled to herself as she continued to work away.

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 34th floor, 30 St. Mary Axe, London, England, October 2014**

"Gentlemen," Richard smiled, sitting down at the boardroom table. "I trust your flight in was agreeable?"

"Very agreeable, Sir Richard," the thin man nodded.

"Well, I'm sure that you will enjoy your usual distractions while you're here," Richard chuckled. "Now, let's deal with some business and you can be on your way."

He slid a tablet to each of the two men. A photograph came across the screen. Both men frowned at the sight.

"Matthew Crawley," the larger man said, turning to his colleague and shaking his head.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley arrived in London last month," Richard said, surprised that they knew him.

"He's the target?" the thin man asked.

Richard nodded. "I want it to be clean, but still noticeable. A car accident, perhaps. Something that won't raise much suspicion, but still irregular enough to cause his family to think twice about what may have happened."

The large man shook his head and mumbled something to the thin man in their native language.

"Is there a problem?" Richard frowned.

"This won't be possible, Sir Richard," the thin man said, passing the tablet back across the table.

"Pardon?" Richard said coldly. "If this is some pathetic attempt to negotiate a higher price…"

The large man scoffed and snarled something in the same foreign language that Richard did not understand.

The thin man raised his hand to silence his colleague.

"It isn't a question of money, Sir Richard," he explained. "We don't take jobs that have such a…how do I say this? Such a high degree of difficulty."

"He's just one man," Richard huffed. "Surely you people can arrange for…"

"Our answer is no, Sir Richard," the thin man interrupted. "We always enjoy doing business with you, and we trust you were pleased with the success of our last operation. This, though, this Matthew Crawley…we're not interested."

"But for God's sake, why not?" Richard retorted. "He isn't ex-military. He isn't a bloody superhero. His security detail is smaller than mine. Why are you scared of some toff from Manchester?"

The large man snarled back, gesticulating wildly with his hands and spewing what appeared to be a rather involved rebuke. Richard was glad that he couldn't understand him, given how angry he was.

The thin man called out what sounded like an order and the large man grunted and grew quiet.

"There aren't many others in our line of work, Sir Richard," the thin man said. "There are always amateurs and ex-coppers you can find for a piddling amount, but true professionals are rare, and as a result more expensive. While we all don't necessarily get along, there is a basic amount of professional courtesy that we pay to each other. People talk, Sir Richard. And this man, this Matthew Crawley, is well known among us."

"But how? Has someone tried to off him already?" Richard frowned.

"Several someones, in fact," the thin man smiled. "It's been years, but you don't reach the level of success that he has without making some enemies along the way. I suspect that others faced the same dilemma that you are now? Matthew Crawley is…bad for business? Around six years ago, I would say, a team was hired to take him down in Manchester. Simple assignment: follow his car, run him off the road. Not as elegant as a sniper or sophisticated as poison, but normal enough to not draw too much attention from the police and yet peculiar enough so that his family would get the message."

Richard nodded, following along.

"It was a three-man crew, driving two cars – a driver and a spotter to run him off the road and a cleanup man in a second car to mop up in case he survived the crash. They followed Mr. Crawley's car through Manchester, and when he got on the motorway and out into the country, they spun him out and sent him rolling over into a ditch and crashing into a tree."

"So what went wrong? How did he survive the car crash?" Richard asked.

The large man looked at his colleague apprehensively.

"Matthew Crawley wasn't driving his car that day," the man explained. "The crew was so focused on following the car, all they cared about was that it was a Mercedes and had the correct license plate. They didn't look at the driver in detail until after the crash. That's when the cleanup man moved in, pretending to be a concerned motorist, and discovered that it wasn't Matthew Crawley who was killed. It was his father, Dr. Reginald Crawley."

"Good God," Richard shook his head. "The poor bastard."

"The good doctor had apparently borrowed his son's car for the day. He was on his way to pick up his wife from the hospital where she worked. With the job compromised, the crew left the city, and the customer decided to wait a while before trying again."

"And what went wrong with the second attempt?" Richard asked.

The thin man stared at Richard grimly. "There never was a second attempt, Sir Richard. The three men – the driver, the spotter and the cleanup man – they were all found dead in different cities within two weeks of the botched job. Professional kills. Notably, they were each butchered in some fashion. The driver had his hands cut off. The spotter had his eyes gouged out. The cleanup man was castrated. All of their severed body parts were sent in a box to the man who had ordered the hit on Mr. Crawley. Suffice it to say no attempt was ever made after that."

Richard frowned.

"Now, in our line of work, Sir Richard, we encounter men who think they can take revenge upon us. Sons who have lost their fathers are not new to us. They all vow to never sleep until justice is done, but in the end they realize they are in over their heads and they give up, or they are convinced to give up, or they end up joining their fathers in the afterlife. This man, this Matthew Crawley, he never gave the crew a chance. They never saw it coming. They just ended up dead."

Richard glared down at the polished table top.

"That's why none of us would take on the assignment, Sir Richard. We all love money, no question. But this Matthew Crawley, he makes us think about something more valuable than money – our lives."

The two men rose from their chairs.

"But this is ludicrous!" Richard spat. "He's just a man! He didn't kill those three men himself, surely!"

"He may be just a man, Sir Richard," the thin man said as the large man opened the door. "But he clearly either has very powerful friends, or he's far more dangerous than you think. In either case, as far as we're concerned, no one you could hire would go anywhere near him."

Richard waved them away dismissively. He got up and walked over to the window, staring down at evening London. He gnashed his teeth together. Yes, Matthew Crawley was turning out to be quite the problem.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, November 2014**

"This is incredible," Mary smiled, shaking her head as she looked over the reports. "I know it's just the monthly figures, and the quarter isn't over yet, but...goodness!"

"It's the best September and October we've ever had," Anna nodded, smiling at her boss from across the desk. "What I find most hard to believe is that Maxims and The Palm Beach are doing well over 300% better compared to last year."

"I see that, yes," Mary grinned. "It's remarkable how much a division can improve when the man in charge actually shows up for work. On top of that, it's nice not to feel stretched so thin. I've been able to focus more on this place and the Colony Club while still keeping up to date on the others."

"Mr. Crawley and Alex have done much better than I expected," Anna nodded. "I'm quite surprised, admittedly."

"I'm absolutely shocked," Mary exclaimed. "I know Matthew's been spending a lot of time at our other properties, but I didn't expect him to be so hands-on."

"Well, whatever he's doing, I expect Lord Grantham will be elated with the both of you," Anna said. "If that will be all, I should be heading out. I have a hair appointment in an hour."

"Right," Mary nodded. "Mine's even sooner than that. Get going. I'll see you tonight."

Anna smiled and left Mary's office. Mary leaned back in her chair and looked at the numbers again. She could not wipe the delighted grin off her face.

* * *

"Still here?" Mary asked as she paused in front of Matthew's office. "You should leave soon to go home and change."

"Why?" Matthew frowned, looking up from his desk.

"We have the Black and White Ball tonight," Mary said. "Don't you remember?"

Matthew clicked his mouse on to his calendar and sighed at what he saw.

"Right, the political fundraiser," he said. "Slipped my mind."

"I'm surprised you, of all people, could forget that," Mary joked. "You're a Tory, aren't you?"

"Hardly," Matthew huffed, shutting off his computer monitors and getting up from his chair. "But I suppose that I must make an appearance, given your family's history with the party."

"You suppose right," Mary smiled as he joined her out in the hall and they made their way to the elevator. "With Mama and Papa not attending, we're representing them and the Crawley Group tonight, and you know how we are about doing things properly."

"Yes, it's important to maintain our legitimate image," Matthew smiled. "Was Sybil banned from going again?"

"Maybe," Mary replied. "She probably prefers not going anyway. She thinks that someone will try and seduce her into believing in reduced taxes on the rich and increased military spending."

"Are you at all political? Beyond making appearances at fundraisers, that is?" Matthew asked as they waited for the lift.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "Though it's hard to get excited about a coalition government. They just can't agree on anything. Nothing will change. I expect after next year's election we'll have another hung parliament."

"Oh, you never know," Matthew said, holding the elevator door open for Mary to step inside. "People were saying that Cameron was done after the European elections, but he's still leading in the polls."

They stood side-by-side as the elevator doors closed.

"Is Evelyn escorting you tonight?" Matthew asked, trying to appear casual.

"No," Mary shook her head. "He'll be there, but he's always quite busy at these things. Truthfully, I can only stand to be around him a few times a year. It's better for our friendship if we only see each other on a limited basis so I don't get too bored of him and he doesn't get too annoyed with me."

"Well, I suppose it falls to me to keep you entertained, then," Matthew said. "In a room full of old stuffy Tories, maybe I'll shine by comparison."

The elevator doors opened and Matthew gestured for Mary to go ahead.

"Maybe you will," she said playfully, looking at him over her shoulder, then walking out of the casino without another word and disappearing into the waiting Bentley.

Matthew swallowed as he watched her go, then turned for the rear entrance and his parked car.

 **Grosvenor House Hotel, London, England, November 2014**

"Thank you for inviting me tonight, sir," William nodded as he hurried to keep up with Matthew. They had passed by the photographers without any problems, and Matthew now seemed intent on surveying the large ballroom, looking left and right.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Mason," Matthew said, not looking at him. "And besides, this isn't strictly a pleasant night out with the Tories."

"Yes, sir," William nodded. "I can't say that I see anyone that I recognize as of yet, sir."

"Well, the night's still young, Mr. Mason," Matthew smiled, pausing his search long enough to nod to William. "Report whatever you notice to Alex either when you see him tonight or at the office on Monday."

"Yes, sir," William said crisply. "Ah, there's Lady Mary."

"Where?" Matthew asked, looking about the room.

"Just that way, sir," William said, nodding in a particular direction.

Matthew turned and spied Mary through the crowd. She was smiling and laughing as she spoke with a circle of people who were hanging on her every word. Her hair was swept back away from her face, red lipstick the only visible make-up she seemed to be wearing. Her navy blue dress was rather form fitting, the thin straps showing off her bare shoulders and arms.

In the course of her conversation, she turned and met his eyes. She stopped listening to whoever was speaking to her and kept her gaze on his. Her lips curled into a smile and she nodded to him in acknowledgement. Matthew nodded back, his eyes remaining on hers until she finally looked away.

* * *

The evening passed rather quickly and Matthew was enjoying himself far more than he expected. He'd visited with Alex and said hello to Anna when he saw her at the bar, but most of the time, he just made idle conversation with whoever was around. It was a bit of fun to challenge himself to maintain a decent chat with people he never met before and who, for the most part, had very little in common with him. He was never particularly good about mingling. It seemed too superficial and a waste of time, but he was feeling up for it tonight.

What also kept him going was how he and Mary seemed to find each other across the room throughout the evening. He would be talking to someone about some inane topic, and his eyes would catch hers. They would hold each other's gaze for a moment, then return to their separate conversations. Or, he would sense he was being watched and turn his head, to find Mary looking at him, smiling that he had noticed. They carried on a running dialogue comprised of arched eyebrows, smirks, smiles and wide eyes. She seemed to be in a playful mood, and he found himself being drawn in.

So it was that Matthew instinctively turned his head while listening to William mention something about one of the guests having been at Crockfords a few weeks ago, and saw Mary. This time though, she wasn't across the room. She was walking straight towards him.

He quieted the doubts and warnings echoing in his mind.

"Hello," she smiled once she reached him.

"Hello," he nodded.

"William," she said cursorily, not taking her eyes away from Matthew.

"Lady Mary," William nodded in reply. William looked away and pretended to be engrossed with the ceiling.

"How is your evening going? Are you enjoying yourself?" Mary asked.

"Quite," Matthew said lightly.

"I must admit that I'm impressed," Mary nodded. "I expected you would have made your escape long ago."

"I suppose I have my reasons for staying," Matthew smiled back.

"Ah," Mary said, her gaze moved from his eyes to his mouth and back up to his eyes. "I was looking over the monthly reports today. You're doing quite a tremendous job."

"You say it as though you're surprised," Matthew teased. "Didn't think I would get up to speed with how things are done in the big city, did you?"

Mary blushed. "I suppose I deserve that. I know I was rather unfair in the beginning. It's just that you must understand that I thought that...well, nevermind. It's not important what I thought. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Mary, we know where we stand. We've no need for gestures," Matthew smiled warmly, leaning towards her. "You were wrong about me when I first arrived, yes. What matters is that we're both here now. Let's consider this a fresh start."

"All right," Mary nodded. "And what happens next?"

"How about a dance?" he asked.

"You dance?" she smiled.

"I have been known to on occasion, yes," Matthew chuckled. "Why don't we start with a dance and see where the night leads?"

Mary blinked in surprise.

"My, that sounds dangerous," she said.

"But you're still intrigued," he smiled. "We've been eyeing each other all night. Let's admit it. There's a certain something between us, isn't there? Something powerful. I know that you feel it too."

Mary blinked again, her mouth falling open before she covered it with her hand and composed herself.

"Matthew," she whispered, her dark eyes locked on his. She bared her teeth and smiled as she leaned towards him. Her breath was warm on his neck as she turned her head to whisper in his ear.

"Your zip is undone."

Matthew grunted. Mary stepped back and arched her eyebrow at him in amusement.

"William," she called, keeping her eyes firmly on Matthew. "Dance with me."

"Y-yes, my Lady," William stuttered, stepping forward and offering her his arm.

"Good night, Matthew," Mary grinned, turning and taking William's arm as he escorted her on to the dance floor.

Matthew watched them go, frowning at Mary's swaying hips. He finally snapped his attention away from them when she went into hold with William, the poor boy seemingly dumbstruck. Mary ended up leading the dance more than he did.

Matthew shook his head and huffed. Turning and heading for the bar, he reached down and zipped up his pants as he went.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2014**

"Idiot. Fucking idiot," Matthew muttered as he walked down the hall to his suite. He could hear his mother's voice in his mind admonishing him for affixing a permanent scowl on his face, but he wasn't overly inclined to compose himself anytime soon.

"There's something powerful between us, Mary," he deadpanned, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. "Fucking idiot."

As he opened the door to his suite, he thought that he was lucky it was now the weekend. Perhaps he could spend the next two days buried in bed and by Monday morning maybe his pride would have grown back.

He came into the living room and threw his suit jacket on to an empty chair. He stopped suddenly as he took in his surroundings. Something wasn't right. He hadn't instructed housekeeping to use any fragrances in his room, but there was a clear hint of vanilla and rosewater in the air. Further, he hadn't dimmed the lights quite as much as they were now. He turned his head. Yes, that was it. He most definitely had not allowed the woman sitting comfortably on the couch into his suite.

"It appears that security here isn't what it once was," Matthew scoffed as he watched his uninvited guest.

"I told the front desk clerk that I was your cousin and that I needed to get in here so I could take off my heels," Mary said lightly, sipping her Martini. "She must have been convinced by the fact we have the same last name."

"Rather convenient, since we aren't cousins and I'm sure your feet are fine," he frowned, glancing at her black stockings. "You can put your heels back on and have them arrange for a car to take you home. I've had about enough of you for one day, Mary. Good night," Matthew said dismissively as he willed his feet to carry him to the bedroom.

"Oh, I don't believe that you've had nearly enough of me, Matthew," she called out. "At least not as much as you want, anyway."

He paused in the doorway and slowly turned around. He looked at her guardedly. She got up and crossed the floor, finishing the rest of her Martini in one gulp and setting the empty glass down on the coffee table on her way to him.

"I tried to find you so we could have that dance, but you seemed to have disappeared. Surely you aren't still upset with me over my little game from earlier?" she asked. Her playful tone and her mischievous eyes bought her enough time to get close to him. He didn't move as she slid her hands across his shoulders and down his front. She deftly undid the buttons of his vest, then slid it off of him.

"That was just all in fun, Matthew," she continued, tugging gently on his tie, undoing it with smooth movements and pulling it easily from his collar. "And you must admit that you did look rather funny so taken aback."

"I wouldn't know," Matthew grunted as she undid one of his cufflinks, then the other. "I was too busy watching you toy with poor William. He looked like a puppy stuck in a puddle."

"There's no need for petty jealousy," Mary shook her head, her lips still wearing the same smirk. "As you said, we know where we stand, don't we?"

She opened the cuff of his right sleeve and ran her fingers lightly across his wrist. She repeated the gesture with his left, her eyes looking up at him playfully. Her fingers moved to the pearl buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly as she kept her eyes focused on him, baring more of his chest as she went.

"I'm not so sure anymore, actually," Matthew said, his eyes narrowing.

"But you were sure," Mary said pointedly, caressing his chest. "Earlier tonight, when you said we were 'eyeing each other'? You knew exactly what you wanted to do to me then, didn't you?"

"I knew what I wanted to do with you, yes," Matthew said, his tone even and calm, despite his shirt now hanging open. "I'm not entirely certain that you know what you want, though."

"Oh, I think I have some idea," Mary said huskily. She reached up and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, massaging his shoulders and upper arms. With a sharp push, she yanked his shirt off and it fell to the carpet.

"You want me, Matthew," she declared, leaning in so that her lips once again hovered near his ear. "You've always wanted me. And now you get to have me. You get to do anything you wish to me. Anything at all. Tonight, everything is permitted."

Her hands moved down his arms, lingering over his biceps before dancing across to brush his firm stomach. She glanced down and smiled before meeting his eyes once more.

"And why should I trust your sudden change of heart?" Matthew asked softly, his blue eyes glowing in the lights of the city streaming through the window.

"What makes you think it's so sudden?" Mary asked lightly. Her lips were a breath away from his as she undid his belt. "Perhaps I simply wanted to make you work for it?"

"You have a strange way of showing me your feelings by rejecting me for William," he retorted.

"Was your poor ego bruised over that?" Mary chided him. "What's wrong, Matthew? You wanted me to get down on my knees and beg you to give me a chance?"

Matthew swallowed, his eyes betraying the effect her words had on him.

"That can still happen if you play your cards right," she whispered, arching her eyebrows at him suggestively.

"I think you prefer to see your men suffer for your favour, Lady Mary," he said.

"Maybe," Mary said slyly. "But a woman likes to know a man is willing to put in sufficient effort to win her over."

"And you think I've suffered enough, do you?" Matthew asked suspiciously.

"You've been a good sport about everything, and you haven't cowered or moped in the face of my barbs, at least not too much, anyway. You haven't backed down from the challenge of working here and you've done quite well so far. So, now, Matthew," Mary smiled wickedly, pulling his belt free of his pants and dropping it to the floor. "You get to enjoy the fruits of your labour."

She reached for the button and zip of his pants.

He moved faster than she did and seized her wrists. A frown flashed across her face as he lifted her hands up, holding them between their bodies as he pressed closer to her.

"Not interested," Matthew said coldly. "Unless you are willing to play by my rules."

Mary quirked her eyebrow. "Rules?" she asked innocently. "That sounds intriguing. And what are these rules, exactly?"

"First," Matthew said, staring intently at her. "If this is your way of having a night of fun before putting your mask back on in the morning, don't bother. I don't do one night stands, hook ups, drunken sex, lost weekends or anything remotely resembling a brief dalliance."

Mary arched her eyebrow. "Second?" she asked carefully.

"Second, I expect exclusivity and give it back in return. I won't share you; neither will I disrespect you by stepping out with anyone else. If we do this, Mary, you're all in," he said, his stare steadfast.

Mary blinked and shook her head in surprise. "You…want to be exclusive?" she asked.

"I don't play, not when it comes to this," Matthew said firmly. "And neither will you, if this is truly what you want, and not merely another one of your games."

She frowned suspiciously at him. The nerve of this man! How dare he dictate terms to her? To her! He should be on his knees begging her for it, not holding her wrists in his firm grip, staring at her with those hypnotic blue eyes, making her skin tremble deliciously from the heat of his body pressed so close to hers, caressing her cheek with his warm breath.

"You ask and expect a great deal for someone who's barely said two kind words to me since you arrived," Mary challenged, allowing him to keep his hold upon her. She was shocked by how close he was, and yet she felt no need to step away.

"I think it's well beyond two words, and even if it were only two, that's two more than you've said to me," he replied. "You wouldn't have come all the way here and finagled your way into my suite if you weren't interested. If you really want me, then these are my terms. Otherwise, you can go. I'm sure there are dozens of men at your beck and call who can fulfil your more base desires, if that's all this is really about."

Mary glared at him. Her lips pursed into a snarl before she calmed her expression, weighing his offer.

"And if I agree to your terms," Mary asked. "What exactly am I getting myself into?"

Matthew smiled for the first time since coming home. He released her hands and turned away, walking into the bedroom. She leaned forward as if to follow him, then made herself stay still. She watched him move, her eyes taking in his bare back and arms.

"When I say exclusivity, Mary," he said, sitting down on the bed and leaning back against the headboard. "I don't just mean in the bedroom. Those grand ideas that you have? I'll support them, fully. I'll fight your corner, be on your side, and stand behind you – completely. So, the only question left is – what about it?"

Mary raised her chin and stared at him for several seconds. He looked almost bored, lying back in bed, one knee bent, his legs parted slightly in her direction. His one arm rested on his knee casually, while the other was across his bare stomach. His posture was relaxed, except for his eyes. Those blue eyes were practically lasers scanning her up and down. This wasn't the awkward Matthew that she knew. He was almost...cocky. Well, she would show him.

Mary reached up and grabbed the thin straps of her dress. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she pulled the straps down her arms and allowed the dress to drop to her feet.

Matthew opened his legs further.

Mary came to him. She crawled on to the bed, her black bra and thong drawing his attention, making his stare more ravenous.

"How do I know you aren't all talk?" she asked quietly, running her hand up his leg as she moved over him. "Making promises that you can't back up?"

He sat up and leaned towards her, his lips now so close they were breathing the same air. His hand covered hers, shifting it across his body and pressing her fingers between his legs.

Mary could not stop a small gasp from escaping her lips as her hand closed around him.

"You'll just have to have more faith, won't you?" Matthew whispered.

She closed the distance and kissed him hard, her one hand continuing to squeeze his growing arousal through his pants as her other hand grabbed the back of his neck. She felt his arms close around her as she slid her tongue into his mouth. He leaned back, trying to pull her down to the bed. She pushed him the rest of the way.

 **Grosvenor House Hotel, London, England, November 2014**

"Would you care to dance, Miss Smith?"

Anna turned and frowned as she looked up at Alex's smiling face.

"It's Anna," she said. "And I'm working."

Alex looked around the room, then smiled back down at Anna.

"Doing what, exactly?" he asked. "Lady Mary isn't here. I expect she's left for the evening."

"I…" Anna muttered. "I'm just observing certain people."

"Ah," Alex nodded. "Well, if you're doing espionage of some sort, don't you think you'll be better able to learn other people's secrets if you're closer to them on the dance floor?"

Anna frowned at him again. Alex held out his hand.

"Fine," Anna shook her head. "One dance and that's your lot."

"Fine," Alex nodded. He took her hand and escorted her on to the dance floor. Finding an open space, he pulled her into hold. Anna was shorter than Alex, even in her high heels.

"Where's Mr. Crawley?" Anna asked as they turned to the music. "I thought the two of you would be huddled in a corner together checking sports scores."

"Matthew left a while ago," Alex replied. "All of our important European matches are this weekend and the North American games don't start for a few hours yet."

"So why don't you leave?" Anna asked. "You'd be more comfortable back home in front of the telly, wouldn't you?"

"I'm quite comfortable right now, actually," Alex smiled at her.

Anna rolled her eyes and kept dancing. Either she didn't notice when the song ended and a new one had begun, or she was feeling magnanimous and decided to give him another turn. Regardless of her intention, they kept dancing for three more songs beyond the one she originally agreed to.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2014**

Mary moaned. Loudly. She had bit her knuckles for the past minute to stifle her cries, but that wasn't working anymore so she could only moan and fling her hand down her body to tangle her fingers into Matthew's hair. Her hips rocked against his mouth. She tried her best to keep still and show no reaction, but every touch of his lips, his fingers, and his tongue made her buck and want more.

She clumsily pushed her hair away from her face, her eyes opening wide as she realized her forehead and hair were damp. She was sweating! She _never_ sweat during sex. But he was making her sweat now. The cool sheets beneath her back prickled her warm skin as she writhed back and forth.

He pushed her thigh back further as he swiped his tongue between her legs and she shut her eyes and moaned again. How did he know how to do this? Men like him weren't supposed to be skilled lovers. His body was surprisingly firm and fit, yes, but anyone could spend time in the gym and transform their appearance. This level of…expertise…could not be achieved easily. What had he done? Read books? Watched porn? Researched the _Kama Sutra_ and practised on a rubber doll? Matthew Crawley was not supposed to make her feel like this.

But he was. God, somehow he was. Mary had come to his suite to seduce him, use him and show him that she could play him anytime she wanted to. While she waited for him to come back from the party, she had wondered just how long he would last. She decided that eight minutes seemed about right. She expected she would be in and out of the building in half an hour, tops.

She had lost track of time but it was surely past half an hour and she was now completely naked and he hadn't removed a stitch since she'd taken off his shirt. His pace had caught her off guard. He wasn't frantic, or desperate, or hurried. His kisses were long and meaningful. His touch was warm and soothing. And his lips and fingers were like those of a professional musician and her body was his instrument.

She was surprised that his kiss wasn't some sloppy wet monstrosity of all tongue and no finesse. She was shocked when he deftly removed her bra with one hand and didn't grope her like an overheated teenager. But what threw her completely was how he looked at her, almost tenderly despite the lust in his eyes. Every glance, every whisper of her name, every touch of his lips and hands told her the same thing – that they had all night, would have many more nights together, and that to him, this wasn't a contest.

She had no time to process the emotions rolling inside of her or all the sensations flooding her body before he had her stripped and on her back, her legs spread and placed over his shoulders while he feasted upon her. She expected their sex to be just as adversarial as they were – a fight, a battle, a race to see who could dominate the other, who could breach who's defences first and use pleasure as a weapon to seal their conquest and declare superiority.

But Matthew isn't interested in any of that. Perhaps it was his little speech about rules, and how he wanted more from her than just a fling. She still had not properly processed that thought, but she was getting his message loud and clear now.

Matthew doesn't fuck around. Literally.

She moaned again, and gasped, and whimpered and squeaked, made noises that she has never heard from her own mouth before. Lady Mary Crawley doesn't whimper. She most certainly doesn't squeak. She hisses, and snarls, and gives orders, or when she's feeling particularly mean, she'll yawn on purpose. But those are the responses of a woman in control, and right now, she's anything but. He was relentless. He knew exactly where to go and what to do, sometimes before even she did. When she came to his suite, she wondered how long it would take her to make him fall apart, but it's glaringly obvious she's the one who isn't going to last much longer. She can't blame alcohol, or even adrenaline, or any other undue influences. Her last drink was hours ago. She's sober enough to feel his every assured movement as he drives her incessantly to her peak. He's going to push her way over the edge and she can't stop him.

No, stopping him is the last thing she wants to do now.

"Please, Mary. Let me hear you," he gasped and resumed his attentions, and if it was a practised line, or a lie, she didn't know, but his voice sounded so genuine and the idea that he is somehow begging her while his fingers and tongue continue their mastery set her off. She shouted his name and pressed him against her, her back arching as she released. She didn't need to fake it like she's done with other men. She's really gasping for breath. She's truly moaning unintelligibly. It's as though her mind is unable to comprehend that Matthew Crawley did this to her, and so she spiralled even higher.

He firmly stroked her several times before slowly and gently easing up and kissing her heated skin, helping her ride out the shockwaves as they ebbed inside of her. He moved up her body, kissing her thigh, her stomach, her breasts. He rolled over on to his back, taking her with him, her head resting against his neck and shoulder. Mary can't recall the last time she felt this sated. She wants to rip his damn pants off and pounce on him, show him she can give just as good as she gets, but she's enjoying how he's hugging her close to him and doesn't want to move.

Earlier she told him huskily that she would do anything he wanted. It was yet another part of her arsenal to make him quiver at her feet. Her voice alone could reduce men to tears when she wished.

Now, all she thinks is that she wants to do everything he commands, just to make him feel as good as she does.

She lifted her chin and found his blue eyes watching her. She blushed. He just spent what seemed like an eternity with his mouth between her legs, but his stare somehow felt even more intimate.

She kissed him softly and slowly, tasted herself on him and shivered. Her hand slid down his chest, her confidence growing as she undid his zipper and ducked her hand past his shorts to take hold of him.

Wicked ideas and scandalous thoughts flew through her mind, but she could only muster enough control to remove the rest of his clothes and pull him on top of her, her hand guiding him where she wants him. He entered her with ease. He felt glorious. She can't believe how slowly he's moving, that he didn't start rutting into her like some crazed maniac. He's inside of her. Her. Lady Mary Crawley. Doesn't he know how lucky he is?

His hips moved smoothly against hers, his rhythm firm and unrelenting, increasing only when he wanted to. She hugged him close, wrapping her legs around his thighs. She wants to squeeze him, growl bad things in his ear, do something, anything to take back the advantage, to make him speed up and feel as lost and overwhelmed as she does.

But all Mary can do is hold on to him. Hold on to him and moan as he thrust in to the hilt over and over and over. His every move builds up the waves inside of her once more, inevitably to crash and drown her in bliss. He's about to send her flying again; two times without him even breaking a sweat it seems. His thrusts are strong and deliberate and show no signs of letting up. God, she wonders amidst the delerium, just how long can Matthew last?

Mary cried out his name as she released again. Matthew didn't stop, the promise of the rest of the evening on his lips as he kissed her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2014**

Wicked ideas and scandalous thoughts flew through her mind, but she could only muster enough control to remove the rest of his clothes and pull him on top of her, her hand guiding him where she wants him. He entered her with ease. He felt glorious. She can't believe how slowly he's moving, that he didn't start rutting into her like some crazed maniac. He's inside of her. Her. Lady Mary Crawley. Doesn't he know how lucky he is?

His hips moved smoothly against hers, his rhythm firm and unrelenting, increasing only when he wanted to. She hugged him close, wrapping her legs around his thighs. She wants to squeeze him, growl bad things in his ear, do something, anything to take back the advantage, to make him speed up and feel as lost and overwhelmed as she does.

But all Mary can do is hold on to him. Hold on to him and moan as he thrust in to the hilt over and over and over. His every move builds up the waves inside of her once more, inevitably to crash and drown her in bliss. He's about to send her flying again; two times without him even breaking a sweat it seems. His thrusts are strong and deliberate and show no signs of letting up. God, she wonders amidst the delerium, just how long can Matthew last?

Mary cried out his name as she released again. Matthew didn't stop, the promise of the rest of the evening on his lips as he kissed her again.

 **Chapter 5:**

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, October 2013**

Patrick gazed at the green felt of the poker table, his head resting on the cushioned border. He arranged his pile of chips into neat stacks, organizing them by denomination, then swatted them into a mess once more and began stacking them again. He frowned as he heard footsteps approach from behind him.

"I said no interruptions, Alfred!" he snarled, not looking up from his poker chips.

"I told Alfred to go on break," a voice called.

Patrick groaned and closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Slowly opening his eyes, he sat up and turned to his new guest.

"I'm not in the mood, Matthew," he huffed, reaching for the glass of vodka placed off to the side.

"That's quite enough for one night, I think," Matthew said, intercepting him and pulling his glass out of reach.

"Fine, keep the glass," Patrick smiled caustically. "This is my casino, isn't it? I'll just open a new bottle."

He stood up and wandered over to the bar, swaying haphazardly and slapping chairs and tables as he went. Matthew sighed and followed him. Patrick pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose and placed it on the bar. As he hunted for a glass, Matthew took the bottle away and placed it on a table behind him.

"We can do this all night, you know," Patrick frowned, looking around at the various bottles. "I can make do with Stoli, or Louis XIII…"

"I think it's time you went home," Matthew suggested.

"I don't want to go home," Patrick waved his hand dismissively.

"Fine, then to The Connaught," Matthew shrugged. "But you aren't staying here."

"Why not?" Patrick laughed. "Afraid that I might get up to something and ruin the family's good name again?"

"I think you've caused enough damage with your little private game tonight," Matthew said, waving Patrick to come out from behind the bar.

"What? That? Come on," Patrick scoffed, unbuttoning his collar as he came over to Matthew. "I won that money fair and square."

"I don't think that Tony would agree with you," Matthew said pointedly.

"Foyle's just a fucking twat," Patrick spat. "And he's shit at poker too."

"Lord Gillingham wants to throttle you," Matthew retorted, shoving Patrick towards the door. "The only reason he hasn't is because he doesn't want to run afoul of Robert."

"Foyle wants to throttle me?" Patrick laughed. "Over a few hundred thousand quid? Please."

"I think it was most likely what happened between you and Mabel that drew his ire," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Get off my bollocks about that, yeah?" Patrick frowned. "I fucked Mabel before she and Tony were even an item. I haven't touched her since, with God as my witness."

"You're supposed to swear an oath with your right hand, Patrick," Matthew shook his head. He put his hand on Patrick's shoulder and guided him from the private poker room to the hallway leading to the back entrance of the building.

"Look, Matthew, don't worry about Tony, all right?" Patrick whinged. "So his bird had a taste of a real man before she settled for him. There's no shame in it. He's not alone in that, you know."

"Don't you ever get tired of this whole false bravado?" Matthew asked.

"You're just the numbers guy, Matthew," Patrick frowned, wagging his finger at him. "Don't fucking psychoanalyze me. I already pay a fortune in therapy for that."

"The company pays for it, actually," Matthew corrected him. "And what does therapy tell you?"

"The same shit," Patrick shrugged. "Watching Dad die was a traumatic event that I still haven't properly dealt with, and it triggered repressed childhood memories of inadequacy that I can't reconcile because he's gone, so I act out to compensate and all the drugs, and drinking and pussy are just glossing over the real problems."

"Sounds about right," Matthew said.

"Speaking of drugs and pussy," Patrick smiled. "Come on, Matthew, back me up tonight. I know two fine tarts that would be perfect for the occasion."

"Not interested, as hard as that is to believe," Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'm heading back to Manchester as soon as I tuck you into bed."

"Oh, c'mon mate! Fine, you order whichever ones you like, I'll take a nap while you have your fun and I'll be raring to go in a couple hours," Patrick said.

"Patrick, you need to slow down," Matthew said seriously as they reached the back door. "Your division is suffering, takings and profit are plummeting. I warned you about this. No one cares what you do on your own time, but when it becomes bad for business, people get concerned."

"And so they send you, the all-knowing voice of reason!" Patrick guffawed, throwing open the door and stepping out into the cool evening air. "Don't worry, Matthew. It's all under control. You'll see. Mary can keep the divisions going for now. I'm on to something better. This time next year, I'll be the family darling once again. Just you watch."

"No one needs you to be a hero, Patrick," Matthew frowned, guiding him over to his waiting car. "You just need to quit going from one extreme to another. Take things slow and steady and you'll be fine. Your problem is you're always trying to pull off some huge play and it ends up blowing up in your face most of the time."

"How do you pull it off, eh?" Patrick asked, turning and grabbing Matthew by the shoulders. "Dr. Crawley died just a few short years ago. Why are you so bloody calm all the time? What's your secret?"

Matthew sighed and firmly removed Patrick's hands from his shoulders.

"I have my bad days too," Matthew said quietly. "But Papa wouldn't want me to wallow, so I don't. And I told myself after he died that I wasn't going to take shit from anyone anymore, or regret whatever I should or shouldn't have done in the past."

Patrick laughed bitterly, turning around and slapping his hand on the roof of the car.

"That's the thing, Matthew," Patrick said quietly, staring down at the ground. "Your Papa wanted the best for you and so you keep going to honour his memory. Dad didn't give a fuck about me."

"That doesn't give you an excuse to not give a fuck about yourself, Patrick," Matthew said.

Matthew opened the car door and eased Patrick into the seat. Patrick stared at the dashboard with vacant eyes. Matthew went around and got in on the driver's side. He gunned the engine and peeled off. Patrick didn't say another word all the way to the hotel.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2014**

Matthew opened his eyes slowly. He stretched his neck, feeling the soft pillow against his cheek as he woke up. The first thing he noticed was the room was lit with sunlight coming in through the sheer blinds. The second thing he noticed was that he was naked, and rather aroused.

He frowned and ran his hand across the other side of the bed. The sheets were cool to his touch, as though no one had ever been there.

He rolled on to his back, and ran his hand along his forehead and through his hair. He blinked several times, staring up at the ceiling, the reality of the moment suffocating him.

Mary had left without a word.

Damn.

She was gone. She was gone because he'd been rubbish last night, clearly. He should have been more forceful, more passionate, more take charge. That's what Mary wanted, wasn't it? That's what all women liked, surely? A real man. Someone to toss them around in bed and take control, show them who's boss and teach them a host of creative positions and leave them breathless. Nobody wanted tender kisses and slow lovemaking. They wanted masterful sex, hard and fast.

Damn.

What was he thinking? She offered to sleep with him, and instead of welcoming her idea of an evening of no-strings-attached fun, he had asked her to be his girlfriend, asked her to go steady with him as though they were middle school children. Exclusivity? No one was exclusive anymore. This was 2014, for God's sake. She was a beautiful, modern woman used to calling the shots in her own life. Who was he to tell her what their relationship would be? Who was he to even ask for a relationship from her? What was he going to do next? Suggest that they hold hands during recess?

Damn.

He closed his eyes, exhaled and grimaced in frustration. She had come to him, had basically propositioned him and he chose that moment to be a bloody gentleman? Of course she left him in the morning. She probably just pretended through all the moans and cries and flailing, waiting until he fell asleep so she could make her escape. What was he expecting? They had been at odds with each other from the moment he arrived two months ago. Where did he get off asking for her heart when she obviously wasn't offering it to him? He didn't know what made him more angry – the fact that he hadn't performed for Mary the way she wanted, or the hard reality that, if he had last night to do over, he likely wouldn't have changed a thing. God, he was a lost cause, wasn't he? Last night had played out exactly as he had imagined for so many years. He hadn't given her a quickie and pushed her out the door. He had shown her the depth of his devotion, that he wanted more than just her body, that they could be more together than just a night of meaningless sex. And she had left.

"Fuck," he groaned through clenched teeth.

"Again so soon?" a sultry voice called.

Matthew's eyes shot open and he turned his head in the direction of the door. His jaw dropped as Mary wandered into the room and came back to bed. He stared at her bare breasts, her alabaster skin, her long legs, the black thong only bringing back a swarm of memories of last night to cascade through his mind.

"You'll need to order breakfast for us, I'm afraid," she said lightly, pulling the duvet across her and snuggling up against his chest. "I don't have the strength to go out to eat. It took an enormous effort just to get up and go take a shower."

Matthew swallowed nervously, watching as Mary rested her head against him and closed her eyes, a contented smile across her lips. Her hand moved over his stomach and her leg wrapped around his. He gingerly moved his arm across her bare back, afraid to touch her in case she might vanish before his eyes.

"Mmm, this is very nice," she drawled, eyes still closed as he rubbed her back.

"As nice as nice can be," he muttered, desperately trying to appear calm despite his mind and body being anything but in response to her lying topless against him.

"Hmm," she purred, remaining in the crook of his shoulder.

"So you…showered?" he asked dumbly, trying to think of something to say. Talk, his mind screamed at him. Talk so you can distract yourself from thoughts of…her…and…those…and most definitely _that_.

"I did," she replied, eyes still closed. "You made me rather untidy."

"I could have gone with you," he said, his voice becoming more normal. "Scrubbed your back?"

"Next time," she chuckled. "If I took you to the shower with me after last night, I doubt much washing would have been done."

He swallowed audibly, her words and the tone of her voice making any hope of 'keeping calm' a futile exercise.

"Mmm, would you like that? Showering with me?" Mary smiled wickedly, turning her head and opening her eyes, arching her eyebrow at him playfully.

"I just think it would be an efficient use of the water, is all," he replied, caught by her dark gaze.

"It seems to me you are reacting to far more than just the idea of saving precious natural resources," she smirked. Her hand ghosted down under the blanket and took hold of him, causing him to groan.

"Or is this just a sign of how excited you get at the idea of being environmentally friendly?" she teased, stroking him slowly.

"Mary," he hissed.

"I'm still sore from what you did to me last night," she whispered, her teeth brilliantly white as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "Get us some food, won't you?"

She leaned up and kissed him softly. He took a deep breath as she removed her hand from him and rolled over.

"What would you like?" he asked finally, his pulse still racing. He turned towards the nightstand and reached for the phone.

"Something invigorating," she smiled at his back. "To prepare me for the day ahead."

"Going in to the office on a Saturday, are you?" he asked lightly as he rang for room service.

"No, my day is clear, actually," she answered.

Matthew looked over at her curiously.

"I'm completely free," she smiled. She idly ran her finger along her cleavage, her eyes locked on him.

"Yes, hello," Matthew stammered as the operator came on the line. "I'd like to order breakfast, please."

He looked at Mary as he spoke, his blue eyes bright, his lips smiling at her in a mischievous grin.

"What do you have in the way of smoothies?" he asked, his eyes moving down her body, staring at whatever exposed skin he could see. "Something with loads of energy."

Mary could only smile back at him, a delightful flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with food.

* * *

Matthew came out into the living room and smiled. Mary stood by the window, frowning at her phone. She had changed back into her dress and fixed her hair and makeup, resembling more the way Matthew found her last night when he came home.

"You're rather overdressed, aren't you?" he teased as he approached her.

"Apparently I did not plan my seduction of you very well at all," she smiled, leaning over and kissing him softly. "I didn't bring any other clothes with me."

"We could go shopping," he suggested.

"You want to dress me up, do you?" Mary said, raising her eyebrow at him. "Is that part of your rules?"

"I…no," Matthew shook his head. "I suppose it would be best if you went home and changed."

"I agree," she declared. She kissed him again. "Are you going to escort me or just put me in a taxi now that you've had your fill?"

"Who says I've had my fill?" Matthew asked smoothly.

Mary swallowed. Her fingers danced nervously against her thigh as his blue eyes caught her once again.

"Your chariot awaits, Lady Mary." Matthew bowed his head and grabbed his car keys from the coffee table.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 2014**

"Thank you for the drive, Matthew," Mary smiled, leaning over and kissing him.

"Any time," Matthew smiled. He put the car in park and pressed the button to turn off the engine.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked.

"I was going to come in and wait for you," Matthew said. "I need to speak to Edith about the financing on one of her projects. She wanted me to look at the numbers before she went to Robert."

"Oh," Mary replied. "Well, that can wait until Monday, surely?"

"It could," Matthew nodded slowly. "But seeing that I'm already here…"

"Just leave it," Mary smiled. "No need to bother Edith on a weekend. I'll be right out."

"Mary, I'm quite familiar with how long it takes for you to change clothes. You're not going to be quick about it," Matthew shrugged. "I'll just wait inside."

"I'll be quick this time, I promise," Mary said nervously.

Matthew regarded her for a moment before his eyes lit up in realization.

"You don't want me to come in," he declared. "You don't want your sisters to know that you slept with me last night."

"That's nonsense!" Mary retorted, her face showing a bit too much indignation. "Who I choose to spend the night with is none of their business."

"Fine, then you don't want us to be seen entering the house together because that will lead to questions about why you didn't come home last night and how you ended up with me today," Matthew smirked.

"Wherever do you come up with these ridiculous theories?" Mary laughed unconvincingly. She shook her head and looked away. Matthew continued to watch her, undaunted. She felt his stare upon her and could make out his blue eyes in her peripheral vision.

"All right!" Mary threw up her hands and turned back to him. "Please understand, it's not that I'm afraid of telling them…"

"You just don't want word to get out that the great Lady Mary Crawley shared a bed with a lowly computer nerd from Manchester," Matthew said.

"Who says you're a computer nerd?" Mary huffed.

"You did! Several times…" Matthew exclaimed.

Mary blushed. "Well, that was ages ago when we were children…"

"I recall you mentioned something along the same lines at dinner in September," Matthew noted.

Mary sighed in exasperation. "Look, Matthew, I know how this all must seem to you…"

"That you're ashamed that you had sex with me? Yes, that's exactly how I see it…" Matthew grumbled.

"I'm not ashamed!" Mary said, raising her voice. "It's just that if Sybil and Edith see us together, and more importantly, see me walking in wearing the same dress from last night, they'll know something happened between us, and they'll be jumping through the ceiling with glee over it."

"Yes, why would we ever want your family to be happy that we're together?" Matthew muttered sarcastically.

"That's not the point," Mary rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath before going on. "You don't know, Matthew. You don't know how long everyone has been trying to push me at you. If Sybil and Edith see us together, they'll tell Mama, and she'll have the wedding invitations ordered before the week is out."

"That's absurd," Matthew spat. "Your Mama has a long list of gentlemen that she'd like you to end up with, and I'm quite certain my name is not among them."

"Oh really?" Mary glared at him. "Then why is it that all I've ever heard since I was fourteen was how wonderful you are, and how I should be nicer to you, or see more of you, or why do I insist upon wasting my time with these other men when adorable Matthew would be a much better match for me?"

Matthew's mouth fell open in shock. "What?" he asked, practically stupefied.

Mary sighed and turned to look out the tinted car window at the steps of her family's London home.

"Why do you think I was so against you when we were younger? Why do you think I teased you so much or spent so much time with Patrick instead of you?" she asked softly.

"Because…" Matthew stammered. "Because Patrick was your cousin and I was just the son of your parents' friends. You didn't like me."

"I didn't like you," Mary scoffed, shaking her head. "Do you know that before every visit, before every time you and your parents came to Downton, all I would hear about for days was how brilliant you were? Matthew's the youngest boy to make his House football team. Matthew finished first in Manchester in the maths competition. Matthew's been accepted to Trinity on a full scholarship. Matthew's got a wonderful idea for an Internet gambling website. God, it was constant! Matthew this, Matthew that, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew!"

"What?" Matthew struggled. "But...how? Why?"

"You're the son they always wanted," Mary said, turning back to him, the hurt evident in her eyes.

"But Patrick..." Matthew said.

"God, Matthew," Mary spat. "I only hung around Patrick because he was always visiting, always there, and he was good for a laugh or two. None of us every thought he was smart enough or ambitious enough to actually run the company. Papa liked him because there were so few boys on his side of the family, and the rest of us tolerated him, but my parents absolutely adored you from the beginning. They still do."

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but could not formulate words.

"I know you didn't do it on purpose," Mary continued. "But every time you succeeded in something, it just brought out my parents' regret that they never had a boy. Edith always did whatever they asked without question, and Sybil's the baby of the family, so they could never be disappointed in either of them. I, on the other hand, I'm the first born, the eldest, the one who should have been a son. Everything I did was picked over and evaluated, and how could I hope to win against the perfect Matthew Crawley?"

Matthew's expression softened from bewilderment to concern.

"Mary, I never knew any of this," he said quietly. "I always thought you didn't like me because you thought I wasn't good enough for you."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary rolled her eyes. "Don't you see? I never wanted to see the good in you! I stubbornly stopped myself from even acknowledging that you had any redeeming qualities at all because to do so would make it seem as though I was agreeing with everyone, that you were this shining knight and that I needed rescuing, that I was incapable of achieving anything on my own so I should throw myself at wonderful Matthew and hope you would give me a position and a life."

"Mary, I'm so sorry," he said. He reached over and framed her face with his hands, kissing her softly.

"I'll tell them, Matthew, I will," she pleaded, stroking his wrists. "Just not yet. Last night was so…amazing. I just want to keep it as ours for a little while longer before my family takes over everything."

"You thought last night was amazing?" Matthew asked in wonder.

"I should think it was obvious," Mary laughed.

Matthew blushed, a smug grin threatening to split his face in two. "I…I'm very relieved to hear that."

"Why?" Mary laughed, taking his hands from her face and holding them in hers. "There surely could be no question given how many times you made me…well, I can't talk openly about that sort of thing, even with you, but you saw and heard how I clearly enjoyed it."

"I suppose so," Matthew mumbled. "But I was worried that perhaps you were just…"

"That I was just what?" Mary asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him.

"That you were just…humouring me…" Matthew swallowed nervously.

"You thought that I was faking them?" Mary asked slowly, her eyebrows arching in challenge.

"Well, no, not during..." Matthew babbled. "But when I woke up this morning and you weren't in bed, I thought you'd left while I was asleep because I hadn't satisfied you. And then I got to thinking about what I did, and I assumed that you didn't enjoy yourself because I took too long and went too slow and didn't throw you around, or tie you up, or take charge, or…"

"Matthew," Mary smiled, interrupting him with a kiss. "I assure you, you satisfied me. You satisfied me quite thoroughly...more than once. And you didn't take too long or go too slow. You were..." Mary sighed as a blush coloured her cheeks. "You were...very good," she whispered.

"So you don't want me to be more...rough?" Matthew asked, his own face flushing now.

"I..." Mary blushed deeper, her voice barely audible. "I wouldn't exactly mind if you...tried that."

Matthew smiled. "All right. Go on in and change. Shall I drive down the block and wait for your text, then?"

Mary kissed him again. "Thank you, darling. I shan't be long."

Mary got out of the car and went up the steps to Grantham House. She opened the door and slipped inside, catching Matthew's eye before she disappeared.

Matthew started the ignition and drove the car around the block and pulled over at the kerb. He stared at the dashboard, contemplating Mary's words. Finally, he leaned back in his seat and burst out laughing.

* * *

"Come in," Mary called as she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror. She'd managed to get upstairs and into her bedroom without seeing Edith or Sybil or any of the servants. She quickly changed clothes, smirking at the love bites on her skin from Matthew's eager lips and teeth. Thankfully, he hadn't marked her neck. She would need to be careful about wearing any low cut tops for a few days, though.

"Where were you last night?" Edith asked lightly as she and Sybil came into the room. She sat down on Mary's bed and Sybil fell into a chair.

"At the Black and White Ball, of course," Mary replied, not turning around. "Doing my duty, unlike you."

"Our presence isn't welcome there," Sybil complained.

"Can't say that I blame them, darling," Mary teased. "They're probably afraid that you would cause a scene."

"I don't mean the Ball," Edith smiled. "I mean afterwards. You didn't come home last night."

"How would you know?" Mary shrugged her shoulders.

"I came looking for you this morning to see if you wanted to have a run," Edith said, grinning at having caught her sister out. "So? What's his name?"

"What's who's name?" Mary frowned, turning around and going to her vanity to fetch a new pair of earrings.

"Whoever you spent last night with, of course," Edith said. "It obviously wasn't Evelyn, so who did you meet at the Ball and where did he take you?"

"I don't need to dignify that rude question with a response," Mary said haughtily, cringing slightly at the mention of Evelyn. "I know you don't have a social life, Edith, but I'm not going to permit you to live vicariously through mine."

"Come on," Edith joked, getting up from the bed and running over to Mary. "We want some dirt!"

"Stop it!" Mary growled as her sister wrapped her arms around her and hugged her from behind. "Edith! I mean it!"

"Please Mary, please!" Edith whinged, her voice rising in pitch. "Just humour us with some gossip from your exciting life!"

"You're such a loser," Mary rolled her eyes, doing nothing to break her sister's hold.

"Please Mary! Do tell!" Sybil joined in, coming to her side and embracing both her sisters. "We know how much you love to brag!"

"Both of you get off of me!" Mary growled, unable to stop herself from smiling as her sisters swayed back and forth, the three of them bunched together. "This is why I can't stand living with the two of you."

"Oh shut your face," Sybil laughed. "You love us."

"Admit it!" Edith cackled.

"I'll admit that I think you're a fucking bitch who can't run a construction company worth a damn," Mary shook her head.

"I love you too," Edith retorted, leaning in and kissing Mary's cheek.

"Argh! Stop it!" Mary shouted, shoving her sisters away as all three of them burst out laughing.

"I can't stand you, Edith," Mary glared at her sister, covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"You're lying," Edith said smugly. "Now, come on, out with it."

"I may have seen someone last night," Mary sighed, putting on her earrings.

"And?" Sybil asked.

"And what? I may have spent the night with him. What does it matter?" Mary said.

"Do you like him?" Sybil asked with a smile.

"Obviously she does," Edith laughed.

"What are you on about?" Mary frowned.

"You're blushing," Edith said triumphantly. "And you have this juvenile look on your face. You're positively floating. God, he really must have put you through your paces, didn't he?"

"Edith!" Mary snapped.

"All right, all right. Keep your secrets," Edith said, grabbing Sybil's arm. "We'll leave you alone for now. I don't know why everything must be so complicated with you. If you had a good time, you should be happy about it, and not act so embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed!" Mary shot back.

Edith just smiled and pulled Sybil out of Mary's bedroom.

Mary checked her reflection once again. Satisfied, she headed for the door, then stopped suddenly. Smiling slowly, she turned and went into her walk-in closet instead. She would need to pack a small bag of extra clothes to bring over to Matthew's.

 **George IV Pub, London School of Economics, London, England, November 2014**

"So, I'm still not sure," Sybil sighed. "On the one hand, I think I want to write my dissertation on gender issues and race, particularly dealing with sexuality and interracial couples and how they're portrayed in popular culture and perceived in society. On the other hand, I've always wanted to examine the barriers to the advancement of women in politics. I could do a historical review of the G7 nations and how many women have held positions in leadership and cabinet, and examine theories explaining it all."

"Mmm hmm," Matthew nodded, stirring his tea, his eyes staring blankly at the table.

Sybil frowned at him.

"Perhaps I should lean towards race," she said lightly. "The research would be easier. I could go around town snogging different black men in public and see what the reaction is."

"Mmm," Matthew nodded, a dumb smile curling his lips. "Wait, what?" he exclaimed, blinking and looking up at Sybil.

"Thank you for finally paying attention," Sybil shook her head. "Honestly, Matthew. Why are you even here? If I wanted my opinions to be ignored or disregarded, I'd call Papa."

"I'm sorry, Sybil," Matthew apologized. "I'm just a bit out of it. Blame it on Monday. You have my undivided attention, I promise. Now, the first topic seems a bit vague and difficult to define. The second seems a bit overdone. You want to break new territory, not go over well-trodden ground."

Sybil smiled. "You were listening, after all."

"Always," Matthew smirked.

"I know, I can't decide," Sybil groaned. "I just want to pick one because once I get into the bulk of the courses, I know I'll change my mind a dozen times. This is the only way I'll commit to something."

She shook her head and sipped her tea.

"Anyway, what about you?" she continued. "Where were you this weekend? We didn't hear from you at all."

"I was busy," Matthew replied. _'Busy banging your sister all weekend'_ he thought. God, he was acting ridiculous and didn't care a whit.

"If it involves anything to do with the family business, I don't want to hear about it," Sybil said, holding up her hand. "The less I know about that, the better."

"You can't live in denial forever, you know," Matthew smiled. "You're a Crawley, and certainly more of a Crawley than I am."

"I also don't need to embrace it wholeheartedly either," Sybil frowned. "Don't you ever wish you could just get out of it all, Matthew? You're brilliant. You're rich. You don't need to keep being a criminal to have a life."

Matthew laughed, glancing around the pub to make sure no one was watching them.

"Mary's right. You can get rather carried away," he shook his head.

"Ah, but you admire my passion, don't you?" Sybil teased.

"Of course," Matthew nodded. "We all do. Perhaps one day when you are head of the family you can take steps to make honest citizens of us all. Until then, we are what we are."

"And what are we?" Sybil asked, looking at him intently. "Criminals. Fraudsters. Profiting off people's vices?"

"Sybil, you know the story almost as well as I do," Matthew smiled. "Centuries ago, the family provided for all the tenants and villagers across Downton. The Estate was entirely self sufficient. It was the government imposing taxes to help fund their wars and to support the failing economy that changed everything. They promised that when the wars ended, the taxes would be revoked, but they never were, were they? Between higher income taxes and death duties, all that the House of Grantham built would have been eroded if the family hadn't acted. Do you think that's fair? Should your ancestors just have accepted it all with a smile?"

"Yes, yes," Sybil rolled her eyes. "And that is why Asquith and Lloyd George and the People's Budget must never be mentioned around Granny or my parents. Matthew, that was over a century ago. We've recovered all that was taken from the family and much more beyond that. When does it all end?"

"When we can be certain of our future," Matthew said simply. "When it is clear that we cannot be threatened by mismanagement, government ineptitude, draconian tax laws or anything else. When we are satisfied that the money we make is truly ours and not just going to pay for the mistakes of others."

"And you've made peace with the methods we employ to achieve those goals, have you?" Sybil demanded.

"We pay taxes, Sybil," Matthew reminded her. "We pay the share that we believe is just. There are far worse families than yours, and far worse sins than anything any of us have done."

"I don't want to talk about this any longer," Sybil sighed, looking away from him. "Your sense of what is just and fair has conveniently come in line with Papa's, Matthew. You think we aren't doing anything wrong simply because our crimes only deal with money, and you think we're only punishing the government. But that's not entirely true, and what the family does isn't so clean."

"Life isn't fair, Sybil," Matthew said quietly. "I've learned that quite conclusively."

Sybil turned back to him, her expression fell into a sad understanding.

"Yes, you have," she nodded, squeezing his hand.

"You're right. Enough about the family business and enough about me," Matthew smiled. "Let's go back to talking about you snogging black men all across London."

Sybil laughed and took another sip of her tea.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Millbank, London, England, November 2014**

"Didn't expect to see you still here this late," the agent said, sitting down at his cubicle.

"Blake's got me rummaging through reams of tax filings," the other agent grumbled. "There's no way to stay on top of it unless I come in after hours."

"Ah," the agent nodded. "And how is the search for Her Majesty's missing millions coming along?"

"Slow," the other agent complained. "It's impossible to tell if anything untoward is going on at first glance. How do you go about figuring out if someone who pays millions in taxes should really be paying more?"

"Maybe you're going about it the wrong way," the agent said. "The numbers won't tell you anything. You need to figure out the profile of who you're going after first."

"We're looking at some of the richest families that have business income," the other agent shrugged.

"But that's too huge a sample," the agent shook his head. "How many of these family businesses go back two generations? Or Three? Or Four? You heard what Blake said. Between the increased taxes and the two World Wars, most of the gentry were wiped out. There can't have been that many left over, and even fewer still who kept their money all the way through. Focus on them, and you might get somewhere."

"Not a bad idea," the other agent nodded. "But could still be a lot of guesswork. What we need is a decent lead."

"Then do what we always do," the agent smiled. "Find someone in the know with something to lose, and lean on 'em until they talk."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2014**

Matthew glanced at his phone and blinked in surprise.

"Anna," he said, answering her call.

"Mr. Crawley," Anna replied. "Lady Mary requests that you meet her at Heathrow within the hour."

"Heathrow?" Matthew frowned.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley. The airport," Anna said crisply.

"Any particular reason, Anna?" Matthew asked.

"She didn't say, Mr. Crawley. Her only instructions were to have you meet her at the private terminal at Heathrow and to bring your passport. She said to text her when you arrived," Anna said.

"Thank you, Anna. Goodbye," Matthew said, hanging up the phone and staring at it in confusion.

"What did she want?" Alex asked, looking over at him from the sofa.

"She said that Mary wants me to meet her at Heathrow," Matthew explained.

"Going somewhere?" Alex asked.

"Apparently we are," Matthew shrugged. "Mary wants me to bring my passport."

"A romantic getaway! Well, bon voyage then," Alex smiled.

Matthew frowned. "She can wait. Tell me what you found out."

"Ms. Parks was rather cooperative, eventually," Alex said. "She confirmed what I thought – she and Patrick were quite close. She had a standing appointment with him every Wednesday night, and sometimes she was 'on call' for him over the weekends. He paid extra to have her set aside those dates for him."

"How efficient of him," Matthew rolled his eyes. "When was the last time she saw him?"

"A week before his death," Alex nodded. "When he didn't show up to their usual appointment, she assumed he would get back in touch with her later. He had a habit of disappearing for long stretches, it seems."

"Don't I know it," Matthew muttered. "So she wasn't helpful, in the end."

"Actually, she was," Alex said. "She didn't know anything about Patrick's business or what he was up to. He didn't like to talk about it and she didn't ask. But, she did give me a name of someone she saw Patrick often arguing with, someone who incidentally he placed several calls to the night he died."

"And who is that?" Matthew asked.

"His dealer," Alex said, looking at Matthew seriously. "Alexander Green."

 **VIP Private Lounge, London Heathrow Airport, West London, England, November 2014**

"Ah, hello darling," Mary smiled, coming over to him and kissing him softly. He automatically returned her embrace. She leaned back slightly, remaining in his hold and smiling at him.

"Care to explain what we're doing here?" Matthew asked.

"Why, we're taking a trip, of course," Mary smiled.

"A trip? To where, exactly?" Matthew asked.

"Abu Dhabi," Mary said pleasantly, taking his hand and guiding him over to a plush couch in front of the large television. "The Dubai group that I'm in talks with wanted to meet at the Grand Prix."

"And you thought I would tag along, is that it?" he inquired.

"Of course," Mary smiled. "Why wouldn't I? I have a business meeting in Abu Dhabi and I wanted to bring the Managing Director with me. Do you have any objections?"

"No, I…" Matthew said in surprise.

"Good," Mary interjected, kissing his cheek and stepping away from him. She went to the bar and poured him a Coke with no ice and a lime wedge. She brought it over and handed it to him, sitting down next to him.

"Thanks," Matthew said, taking the glass from her.

"You're surprised," Mary said smugly, sipping her own glass of wine.

"Well, yes," he admitted. "I didn't see a trip set for us in my schedule."

"Well, I only got the idea to bring you along this morning," Mary replied. "It was a rather spontaneous decision."

"And why was that?" he asked.

"You did say that if we were to start seeing each other, I needed to be all-in, didn't you?" Mary asked.

"I did say that, yes," he nodded, looking over at her nervously.

"Well, this is me being all-in, Matthew," she smiled, arching her eyebrows.

He clinked his glass with hers and took a sip of his drink. She picked up her tablet and started telling him about her meeting and what it was all about. Matthew listened intently, following the slides she showed him on the tablet screen. He would steal a glance at her from time to time, smiling at her enthusiasm for the meeting and her presentation. His arm moved along the back of the couch and rested behind her shoulders. He smiled and absorbed every word she said.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, November 2014**

"Do you recognize this man, William?" Alex asked, pointing to the computer monitor.

"Yes, sir," William nodded. "That's Mr. Green, sir. He would come by the casino once a month or so to meet with Mr. Patrick."

"And what would they discuss, William?" Alex asked.

"I don't know for sure, sir," William said. "He was…erm…Mr. Patrick's supplier, sir."

"Indeed he was," Alex nodded. "And do you remember the last time that he was in, William?"

"Hasn't been for a while, sir," William said. "But that may have been because he would meet with Mr. Patrick outside the casino as well, sir. A mate of mine over at The Palm Beach said Mr. Green would show up there sometimes too when Mr. Patrick was hosting his private games in the backroom."

"Thank you, William," Alex nodded. "That will be all."

"Yes, sir," William said, rising from the chair. He headed out to go back to his own office, but paused at the doorway.

"Perhaps if you spoke with Miss Smith, sir, you could coordinate your efforts together," William suggested.

"What's that?" Alex asked in surprise, frowning at William. "What does Anna know about this?"

"She asked me earlier today, sir, about Mr. Green," William nodded. "She knew about his meetings with Mr. Patrick, of course, but she asked me if I could remember the last time Mr. Green was here as well, sir."

"I'll have to speak with Anna then," Alex stated, rising from his chair.

"You'll need to call her, then, sir," William said helpfully. "She's been gone since I spoke to her this afternoon."

Alex frowned as he came into the hallway, looking across at Anna's empty office.

"Thank you, William," Alex said curtly, taking out his mobile and heading off for the elevator.

 **Crawley Group Gulfstream G550 Jet, Somewhere over Hungary, Europe, November 2014**

Matthew adjusted his seat back and made himself comfortable. The dull drone of the engines was soothing in his ears as he relaxed. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together over his stomach. It would be another five hours until they reached Abu Dhabi. With the time change, it would be early morning by the time they landed. Mary had wisely cleared the next day to allow them to adjust before her meetings began. It was common for business to be conducted at the Formula 1 Grand Prix race, given the close proximity to Dubai and Qatar. Going to the race suited Matthew. He had business of his own that coincided nicely with the event.

He blinked as he felt Mary's hand touch his shoulder and slide down his arm. He looked up and smiled lazily at her as she stood next to him.

"Shouldn't you be seated?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear? We're free to move about the cabin, Matthew," she smiled, bending over and kissing him, resting her hands on his shoulders.

"Careful, darling," Matthew smiled, running his hands along her bare outstretched arms. "We might encounter some turbulence."

"Well, there's something to be said for living dangerously, isn't there?" she smiled.

Matthew's eyes widened as he watched her drop to her knees in front of him. His breath caught as she unsnapped the buckle to his seatbelt, and opened the belt and zipper of his pants. She kept her eyes on him, a wicked smile across her lips as her hands moved past his waistband.

"Mary!" he hissed. "What are you…"

"Shh," she silenced him. "It would be quite unfortunate if the crew were to interrupt us."

He bit back a groan as Mary closed her lips around him. He grabbed hold of the armrests and tensed, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her head in his lap.

"Shall I continue?" she asked, stroking and licking him, her eyes playful and dark.

He could only nod his head vigorously, his breathing ragged.

"Say please, Matthew," she grinned.

"Oh, please, please," he gurgled, his knuckles white as he hung on to the leather chair.

Mary chuckled before resuming her attentions on him. She went painfully slow, her mouth and fingers bringing him to the edge of release, then pulling him back. Eventually, unable to stand it any longer, he thrust his hips towards her, rewarded with her seductive moan as she took him deeper.

"Feel good?" she asked, lifting off of him and keeping him teetering with her fingers.

"God, yes!" he gasped.

"More?" she asked.

"Oh, Mary, please!" he growled, shutting his eyes as her fingers slowed, denying him the last bit of friction he needed to go over.

"Make me," she whispered.

He opened his eyes and stared at her as she took him back into her mouth, moving just as slowly as before. He thrust his hips, a burning sensation spreading through his legs as Mary brought him close to bliss once more, and kept him suspended on the brink.

Matthew exhaled loudly, giving in as he reached out with his hand and weaved it through her soft hair. He gasped as he cradled her head and thrust forward. Mary moaned around him, moving her other hand up to fondle him, and increasing the tempo of her mouth and fingers. He let out a choked shout as she finally allowed him his release, keeping his eyes on hers as he melted in the warmth of her mouth.

He blinked several times, his brain slowly coming back online as he looked down at Mary. She sat back, licking her lips and smiling at the dazed look on his face and his pants and shorts bunched around his knees.

"Drink?" she asked, rising up off the carpet.

"Water, please," he croaked, rearranging his clothes and sitting up in his chair.

Mary went over to the bar and fetched a bottle of Evian for him and a glass of vodka for her. She went back and took her seat, passing him his drink.

"Cheers," she smiled, raising her glass to him.

Matthew downed the entire bottle in one go.

 **Egg London Nightclub, London, England, November 2014**

The bouncer looked at her up and down before scanning her ID and handing it back to her. He unclipped the velvet rope and stood aside for her to walk past.

"Have a good time," he leered, watching as she went by, his eyes moving down her petite frame. She expected he was staring at her ass as she went inside the club, but she couldn't be bothered to say anything. It wasn't as though she hadn't expected such boorish behaviour.

Anna made her way through the crowd, the throb of the bass shaking all around her. She finally reached the bar and shimmied her way past blokes doing shots and girls clinking Martini glasses. Leaning over the bar, she bit her lower lip as the hint of her cleavage successfully lured the bartender over.

"What'll you have, pretty?" he shouted at her.

"I'm here to see Mr. Green," Anna said seriously.

The bartender frowned. "And who might you be?"

"A friend of the Crawley family," she replied.

The bartender looked her over before nodding slightly and pointing to the back of the large space.

"Down that hall, past the washrooms. Tell them Felix said you can go through," he grunted.

Anna turned and left the bar, taking a roundabout route around all the drunken revellers until she reached the hallway. She made her way into the women's washroom to look herself over before she continued. Under the glare of the neon lights, she adjusted her hair, the tight braid still holding. She smoothed out her skirt and shifted her push-up bra, frowning at the sight of her breasts nearly spilling out of the flimsy garment. She didn't know what was worse, that she needed to wear such an outfit to get into this place, or the fact that she looked positively frumpy compared to some of the other girls in here.

Anna checked her phone before leaving the washroom. She didn't have any calls or messages, not that she expected anyone to try and reach her at 3 a.m. She had texted Mary when she tracked down Green's whereabouts, but Mary was still in flight. Mary had told her to be careful before she left for Abu Dhabi. Anna felt she could handle Green, even on his turf. The club was packed with people and she didn't expect any trouble. She walked determinedly down the hall to a lone door guarded by a large bouncer.

"Felix said I can go through," she declared, looking up at the man defiantly.

The bouncer ogled her unashamedly, looking straight down the top of her dress, then smiled and stepped aside.

"We're glad that he did," the bouncer said, opening the door for her.

Anna walked through into the room and blinked as she adjusted to the brighter lights. A group of people were seated at a couch off to the side, lines of cocaine spread out before them on the glass coffee table. Several scantily clad women were dancing on the other side of the room, and at the back, seated behind a desk and looking up at a replay of a football match on the television was Alexander Green.

"Mr. Green," Anna said, walking past everyone and coming up to him.

Green turned his head and smiled when he saw her. "Well, hello," he said. "Miss Smith, isn't it?"

"Yes," Anna nodded, a bit perturbed that the man knew her name. "I need to talk to you."

"Well, by all means," Green said, turning in his chair to face her and leaning back. "Talk."

Anna glanced around before continuing. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

"Of course," Green nodded. He rose from his chair and directed Anna to a side door. She went through ahead of him and into a smaller room. A wall of televisions was set up above a large desk. A sectional couch was against one wall, with a glass coffee table in front of it.

"This is my safe room," Green declared, pointing to the couch for Anna to sit down. "We monitor everything that goes on outside in the club to make sure there are no unfortunate incidents."

Anna took a seat and held her ground as Green sat down close to her and placed his arm on the back of the couch behind her.

"I need to ask you some questions about Patrick Crawley," Anna began.

"Ah yes, poor Patrick," Green shook his head sadly. "He was like a brother to me, you know. Fucking shame what happened to him."

"And what did happen to him, as far as you know?" Anna asked.

"I thought it was a heart attack, wasn't it?" Green said lightly.

"An aneurysm," Anna corrected him. "He had a blood vessel burst and a large amount of blood spilled into his brain."

"I see," Green nodded. "Well, how can I help you?"

"When was the last time you saw Patrick?" Anna asked.

"About a week or so before he died," Green said. "Man was the picture of health too."

"And did you speak to him after that?" Anna asked.

"Nope," Green shook his head.

"Then why did Patrick call you six times the night that he died?" Anna asked.

"Damned if I know," Green shrugged. "I never got a call from him."

"Did you know that there was cocaine residue on the coffee table at his penthouse near where his body was found?" Anna asked.

"Is that right?" Green nodded. "Well, it's hardly surprising, is it? Patrick liked to indulge at different places – home, the casinos, in his car sometimes."

"Did you also know that cocaine abuse can cause brain aneurysms, Mr. Green?" Anna asked.

"I'm no doctor, Miss Smith," Green laughed.

"Do you know what I think?" Anna said, narrowing her eyes at Green. "I think that you did see Patrick the night that he died. I think he called you asking for an order, and you supplied it to him. But I think there was something different about this order. I think that there was something very wrong with the order, in fact. I also think that Lord Grantham will be very interested to hear my theory, and he might have a few questions of his own for you, Mr. Green. Now, if you're a good boy and stop lying to me, then perhaps I don't need to get His Lordship involved."

"Oh Jesus!" Green exclaimed. He got up from the couch and began pacing around the room, running his hands through his hair nervously.

"Look, I…I didn't have nothing to do with it, I swear!" Green babbled.

"Calm down," Anna said. "Just tell me what you know and who put you up to it."

"What I know?" Green asked, turning to her. He grinned wickedly and pulled a gun from behind his back, pointing it at Anna menacingly.

Anna's eyes went wide.

"What I know, Miss Smith, is that you're a fucking dumb cunt to think you can fucking come down here and ask me a bunch of questions, then fucking threaten me by dropping Lord fucking Grantham's name," Green snarled, coming around to her.

Anna backed away, fleeing to the corner of the couch until he had her trapped, the gun pointing at her temple.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Coming down here with your tits all hanging out, flashing that tight little ass of yours? You think showing me some skin and talking tough will have me squealing for you, do you?" Green growled. "The generous benefactor who paid me to deal with dear Patrick is a hell of a lot scarier than you, you fucking slag."

He reached into his pocket, the gun still trained on Anna. He threw a plastic pouch on to the coffee table.

"This is some premium shit I got for you, Miss Smith," Green smiled. "Now, we're going to have a little fun. Oh yeah, the two of us are going to get real friendly. This stuff? It'll have you flying before it even hits your nose. So you are going to be a real good girl and take a hit. Then, when you're nice and loosened up, I'm going to make good use of that pretty mouth of yours. After that, I'm going to bend you over this couch and fuck that tight little ass. Bet you never had a real man back there, have you? Well, don't worry. Once this stuff kicks in, you'll be loving every second of it."

Anna swallowed, her stomach lurching.

"Not so tough anymore, is you?" Green said waving the gun at her. "Speak up, Miss Smith! No more questions for me, eh?"

"We can forget this ever happened," Anna said tightly, her voice trembled with fear. "Just let me out and I won't bother reporting any of this."

"Report me?" Green laughed. He reached over and emptied the contents of the pouch on to the table, the gun still pointed at Anna. "The only thing you'll be reporting is what a good time I showed you. Yeah, we'll be seeing lots of each other, Miss Smith. See, one hit of this stuff ain't enough. Once it gets in your system, you'll need another right quick, and don't worry, I'll give you all that you can handle. I'm going to stretch you right out, I will."

A loud thumping on the door distracted Green and he turned his head. "Boss! Hey boss!" a voice called.

"What the fuck?" Green muttered, staring at the door. "Bugger off!" he yelled.

Anna lunged forward once Green looked away. She pushed her forearm into his wrist, causing him to turn the gun away from her. As his head moved back towards her, she slammed her fist into his throat, bruising his windpipe and causing him to choke. As Green fell back on to the couch, Anna leapt on top of him. She pinned his arm under her leg, then ripped the gun out of his hand. Green yelped in pain as she raked her fingers across his eyes. Bringing the gun up, she spun it around and sent the butt end crashing into his temple. Green's head lolled to the side as he passed out, wheezing for air.

Anna scrambled to her feet and ran over to the door, her back against the wall. She reached over and turned the knob, aiming the gun at whoever was about to step through.

The door swung open and a large bouncer fell forward, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. Anna frowned at the prone body, then lifted the gun as a second man entered the room.

"Stop, Anna!" Alex shouted, raising his hands. "It's me."

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Anna exclaimed. She lowered the gun as he came into the room and closed the door behind him.

Alex saw Green's unconscious form on the couch.

"I, uh, I came here to rescue you," Alex said.

Anna removed the clip from the gun and tossed the useless weapon at Alex.

"My hero," she rolled her eyes, then went over to the security monitors and began going through Green's desk.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** This week's chapter is my contribution to _Mary and Matthew AU Fest 2015. _ My dear patsan deserves all the credit for organizing another lovely event. Many thanks to _Willa Dedalus_ and _Lala Kate_ for inspiration and motivation, as always. A special thanks to all the readers for giving this modern AU story a chance. It's quite different from what I've written before, and I'm grateful for the interest, reviews and comments from all of you. Weekly chapter publishing will resume next Thursday.

* * *

 **Previously:**

 **Egg London Nightclub, London, England, November 2014**

Anna lunged forward once Green looked away. She pushed her forearm into his wrist, causing him to turn the gun away from her. As his head moved back towards her, she slammed her fist into his throat, bruising his windpipe and causing him to choke. As Green fell back on to the couch, Anna leapt on top of him. She pinned his arm under her leg, then ripped the gun out of his hand. Green yelped in pain as she raked her fingers across his eyes. Bringing the gun up, she spun it around and sent the butt end crashing into his temple. Green's head lolled to the side as he passed out, wheezing for air.

Anna scrambled to her feet and ran over to the door, her back against the wall. She reached over and turned the knob, aiming the gun at whoever was about to step through.

The door swung open and a large bouncer fell forward, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. Anna frowned at the prone body, then lifted the gun as a second man entered the room.

"Stop, Anna!" Alex shouted, raising his hands. "It's me."

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Anna exclaimed. She lowered the gun as he came into the room and closed the door behind him

Alex saw Green's unconscious form on the couch.

"I, uh, I came here to rescue you," Alex said.

Anna removed the clip from the gun and tossed the useless weapon at Alex.

"My hero," she rolled her eyes, then went over to the security monitors and began going through Green's desk.

 **Chapter 6:**

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, November 2014**

Anna sighed tiredly as she walked into her foyer. She kicked her high heels off and tugged at her braid, shaking her blonde hair loose. The carpet below her sore stockinged feet felt heavenly as she went through to the living room. She needed to get out of this dress immediately, to say nothing for the bra, thong and garters that had her feeling as though she were wearing some sort of Edwardian-era corset.

"I still think you should see a doctor, just to be safe," Alex said, locking the door behind him and following her into the living room.

"The last thing I need is to be sitting in a hospital for hours just so that a medical student can tell me I'm fine," Anna frowned at him. "I told you. Green didn't do anything to me. I'm home. I'm all right. You can go now."

"You may not clearly remember everything that happened," Alex said. "You might have bumped heads with him during the struggle. Better to be safe, I say."

"I didn't 'bump heads' with him," Anna rolled her eyes. "Your concern is noted and your suggestion is rejected. Now, if you don't mind, I really need to get out of these uncomfortable clothes. Thank you for seeing me home, but I'm fine."

"I'm not convinced," Alex stated. He walked past Anna and went and sat down on her couch.

"What are you doing?" Anna demanded, grimacing at him in annoyance.

"Concussions can hit hours after the initial impact," Alex explained. "You could die in your sleep if you have swelling in your brain or internal bleeding."

"Internal bleeding?" Anna repeated incredulously. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"It's possible," Alex shrugged. "Do you have any symptoms? For instance, do you have a headache?"

"A rather massive one, yes, and it's worsening by the second," Anna said sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Any restlessness or unsteadiness?" Alex asked.

"Restless for you to leave so I can go to bed, yes," Anna spat. "Unsteadiness, no."

"Walk for me," Alex ordered.

"What?" Anna exclaimed.

"Walk for me," Alex said again. "If you say you aren't experiencing unsteadiness, then prove it."

Anna huffed, then walked across her living room and back. Alex smiled as he watched her, paying particular attention to her hips as she moved. His face grew serious again as she turned around.

"There. Satisfied?" she asked.

"Are you having difficulty with vision?" Alex asked.

"I wish the person I was looking at right now would vanish," Anna retorted. "But otherwise, no."

"What about urinary or bowel incontinence?" Alex inquired.

"No," Anna said tightly. "And if you ask me to prove it to you, I'm going to give you a concussion."

"If you refuse to go to the hospital, then I'll need to keep you under observation until I'm convinced that you're not in danger," Alex declared.

"So what, you're going to sit on the couch until I fall asleep?" Anna asked in bewilderment.

"No," Alex shook his head. "I'm going to sit on the couch until you fall asleep, then I'm going to check on you at regular intervals while you sleep to make sure your pulse is normal and that you're still breathing."

"And how do you presume to measure my pulse?" Anna demanded.

"I have an app for that," Alex said, waving his phone in the air.

Anna threw her hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'm going to bed."

She trudged off down the hall to her bedroom, muttering to herself as she began unzipping her dress.

"I'll be in to check on you in half an hour," Alex called after her. He set the alarm on his phone and placed it on the coffee table. Getting up from the couch, he removed his suit jacket and tie and unbuttoned his collar. He walked around her living room, smiling at several photographs on the wall of her with Mary, other members of the Crawley family and co-workers from Crockfords. Judging by their appearance in some of the pictures, it seemed that Anna had known Mary for many years.

He went through to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. Taking them back out to the living room, he placed them on the coffee table and sat back down on the couch. Alex went over the night's events in his mind, checking the photos on his phone and typing out some quick notes to be sure he remembered everything.

He heard the noise of the shower coming from down the hall and turned his head in that direction. His mind wandered for several moments before he sighed and turned away, closing his eyes to rest until the alarm went off.

 **Royal Suite, The Ritz-Carlton Abu Dhabi, Grand Canal, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

Mary opened her eyes as the familiar chorus of Beyoncé's _Run This World (Girls)_ blared from her phone speaker. She reached out from under the duvet and hit the snooze button on her phone alarm, groaning as she stretched. A smile crept across her lips as she turned over and glanced at the topless man sleeping next to her.

"Matthew," she whispered, jabbing him in the ribs. "Wake up. It's almost dinner time."

Matthew sat up and stretched, letting out a long breath before he opened his eyes. Mary admired his toned torso and arms, still shocked that the Matthew she knew from childhood was the fit man beside her now. After they checked into the hotel and went to their suite, she'd gone straight to bed, leaving Matthew to deal with the bellman, butler and their luggage. She was sound asleep when he entered the master bedroom.

His first thought upon seeing her sleeping form was to wake her up in a particularly daring fashion, and he thought the fact that she'd stripped down to just her panties was her way of encouraging him to do so. However, despite his sordid ideas, they were both truly exhausted from the flight over, and so he undressed, threw on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and got into bed next to her, kissing her shoulder and cheek before falling asleep himself.

"What shall we order?" he asked, looking over at her.

"We should go out and see the city, I think," Mary smiled. "There are several renowned restaurants in the hotel, but we can try them later in the week."

"I remember seeing that there's a Hakkasan near the water," Matthew mused. "Fancy Chinese tonight?"

"Perfect," Mary nodded.

"I'll get us a table," Matthew said.

Mary watched as he slid out of bed and grabbed his phone, going out into the living room to place the call. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom, putting on a robe and freshening up. She had her clothes unpacked and organized in her large walk-in closet by the time he came back.

"Of course the one location that you cannot make reservations online at would be Abu Dhabi," he complained. "The hostess I spoke to was quite helpful. She promised that their best private dining room would be ready for us when we arrive."

"That's rather extravagant, isn't it?" Mary asked lightly. "There's just the two of us, you know."

"It's about as extravagant as booking the Royal Suite for just the two of us," Matthew smirked. "This room is supposed to accommodate six adults very comfortably, to say nothing for the fact that it's bigger than my mother's house in Manchester."

"I didn't book it for just the space," Mary replied. "I booked it for the security on the floor and the private entrance."

"Ah yes," Matthew nodded. "Wouldn't want to have to walk through the lobby on my arm. Someone might notice."

"Do try and get over that, darling," she needled him. "It makes you sound so insecure."

"I'm just being careful," he grinned at her across the room. "Maybe you just brought me along to test me out before you decide if you'll keep me around?"

"I 'tested you out' for the past four nights in London before inviting you to come here with me," Mary said pointedly. "I think I'm quite well versed in what you're all about as far as _that_ is concerned."

"Perhaps," he said easily. "Or perhaps you haven't experienced my entire repertoire."

Mary shook her head in amusement as he went over to his own closet and started picking out his clothes for the evening.

"Did you notice something peculiar about the staff when we checked in?" he called, hanging up his clothes. He would need to iron his dress shirts, he thought.

"Are you referring to the curious looks that they were giving us?" Mary answered back from her closet.

"Yes," Matthew nodded.

"They were just surprised, I imagine," Mary said.

"About what?" Matthew frowned.

"About why we aren't wearing wedding rings, of course," Mary smiled, coming over and leaning against the doorframe of his closet.

Matthew blinked, first at the black camisole she had changed into, and secondly at her answer. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Abu Dhabi is a very conservative city, Matthew. Public displays of affection are strictly forbidden, and an unmarried couple sharing a hotel room is considered immoral," Mary said lightly.

Matthew blinked again. "So they thought…"

"They assumed that we were married, probably due to our having the same last name. The lack of rings piqued their curiosity, obviously," Mary nodded.

Mary turned around and went back into the washroom. She sat down at the vanity and set out her make-up.

"So by sharing the same bed, we're breaking the law, as it were," Matthew said, coming into the washroom.

"Indeed, a moral standard at the very least, and perhaps even an actual law or two," Mary replied, touching up her lipstick. "Even holding hands in public is considered wrong. We've a long list of crimes, rather."

"I wasn't aware of any such list, at least not for this country," Matthew frowned. "We've only been here for a few hours."

"Well, the list includes crimes that will be committed during our stay," she said, rising from her vanity and turning towards him, a playful smile across her freshly painted lips.

"Such as?" Matthew asked, swallowing as she came near.

"Anything intimate shared between a man and a woman who aren't married could be considered indecent," Mary said sultrily, placing her hands on his bare chest as she leaned into him. "So, when you take me in the shower, for example, you'd be doing something entirely forbidden."

Matthew gasped audibly, his hands moving down to cup the thin silk covering her ass. "And what about when I spread you out on the dining table and ravish you? Would that be wrong as well?" he rasped.

Mary smiled at his willingness to play along with her bold game. She brushed her lips against his cheek and whispered in his ear.

"Very," she drawled. "Which would make what I bet you want to do to me out on the balcony a punishable offence."

"My, if we're doomed to run afoul of the law so often, I suppose we should make each infraction count," he growled, squeezing her bottom.

"You're taking quite a risk already," she smiled, pulling back to look into his clouded blue eyes.

"Well, someone once taught me that there is something to be said for living dangerously," he leered, then seized her mouth in a heated kiss.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, November 2014**

After four hours of sleep, and six bedside visits from Alex to check her breathing and heart rate, as well as forcing her to drink two glasses of water, Anna wandered down the hall to her living room, her robe tied tightly around her waist. She was wearing a t-shirt and shorts underneath, but still felt the additional layer was appropriate, particularly given that he had been treated to a full display of her skimpy dress a the nightclub. She turned the corner and found Alex lying on the couch, his hands holding his phone against his stomach.

"Wake up," Anna growled, flicking his ear with her fingers.

Alex's eyes shot open and he sat up immediately. He blinked several times and looked at her.

"I'm still alive, as you can tell," Anna said, waving her arms. "My pulse is normal, I'm breathing normally, I don't have a headache, I'm not unsteady and I'm not incontinent. You can leave now."

"It's recommended that a person be under observation for 24 hours after a concussion," Alex replied calmly. "Go back to sleep. I'll check on you in another hour."

"You aren't lying on my couch until tomorrow!" Anna protested.

"Well, it would be more convenient if I lie next to you, but I don't go to a woman's bed without an invitation," Alex shrugged.

"A valiant effort," Anna scoffed. "Why don't you just admit the real reason why you're here? Just tell me what you really want and be done with it."

"And what would that be, since you seem to be so sure?" Alex asked, rising up off the couch and standing to his full height.

"You want to know what I learned from Green before you burst in and interrupted me," Anna frowned, looking up at him accusingly. "You're just here so you can dig for information to report back to Mr. Crawley."

"First of all, I doubt you learned much before I came to your rescue," Alex said dismissively. "Green was probably too focused on one, getting you out of that dress you were wearing, and afterwards, putting a bullet in your head, to divulge much in the way of anything. And whatever he did tell you, I probably already know."

"For the hundredth time, you didn't rescue me," Anna rolled her eyes. "I had already knocked him out and had the situation well in hand before you showed up."

"Then how was an unconscious man able to yell at me through the door?" Alex countered. "And another thing, if you think it would take me four hours to break into your home network, you're daft. You're running WPA encryption; your passphrase is probably a dozen characters, max. Besides, you put your phone on your nightstand to see if I would try and steal it when I came in to check on you, and as you know very well, I haven't touched it."

Anna looked away in disgust.

Alex tried again in a more placid tone. "Anna, it's obvious that we've both been ordered to investigate Patrick's death. It's 10 in the morning now, which means it's 1 in the afternoon in Abu Dhabi. I expect that both Matthew and Lady Mary are still asleep, which means they won't be available until after dinner at the earliest. I don't know about you, but nothing that I've uncovered so far is so urgent that I need to report to Matthew right this instant, or even later today for that matter. If you truly are feeling fine, then I'll leave and we can meet at the office tomorrow and go over what we know before we check in with them."

"I don't have any instructions to share anything with you or with Mr. Crawley," Anna glared at him. "I work for Mary. If she feels that what I've found out should be shared with anyone, she'll decide and let me know. Until then, I'm not telling you anything. So just quit this imagined concern for my well being and go home."

Alex pursed his lips and looked at Anna for a moment. He reached for his glass of water and finished it, then placed it back on the coffee table. Reaching over to a nearby chair, he retrieved his suit jacket and tie.

"Good morning, Miss Smith," he nodded. "Sleep well."

Anna frowned as Alex walked past her and left, closing the door behind him. She followed after him to the door and turned the dead bolt lock. Looking through the peephole, she watched him walk briskly down the pavement and out of sight. Sighing, she stomped back to her bedroom and buried herself under the covers.

 **Formula 1 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

Matthew wandered the paddock, keeping out of the way of the mechanics, staff and wide-eyed fans who scurried about. He always found Formula 1 racing rather odd, almost more of a show than a sporting event. The teams and drivers were mainly based in Europe, with many hailing from England. They would pack up and fly across the world, holding their races in faraway lands, then return to Europe. It was almost as though the sport itself was a lavish travelling fair, stopping in foreign countries to take the fans' money before jetting away. The top drivers were all celebrity millionaires, and usually had beautiful women and large entourages accompanying them. Being in the Middle East for this, the last race of the season, was even more of a spectacle. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was a rare day-night race, beginning in the late afternoon sun and finishing under the floodlights at night. Further, and most important to Matthew, the championship was still to be decided, meaning that a great deal of money was going to be wagered on this event through his websites.

A typical race week was a series of parties, corporate events and concerts, leading up to the race on the weekend. Today were the first practice sessions. Matthew had left Mary in their luxury box. They were not meeting with her contacts until tomorrow, but she had calls to make and had to test out the projector and monitors to ensure that her presentation worked seamlessly. They agreed to meet up later. His VIP badge allowed him free access to the buzzing area where all the teams were getting ready to go out on track. Rather than clamour for autographs or selfies with the drivers, he stayed in the background, observing the teams, searching for clues that would help him set the betting lines for his websites and give him a hint on how each driver would fare in the race.

After walking up and down the paddock a dozen times and seeing all the drivers and cars, Matthew was satisfied with his initial reconnaissance. He would make one last stop at the Mercedes AMG Petronas garage before going to find Mary. Mercedes had both the strongest car in the field and the top two drivers in the standings. The overwhelming majority of the bets being placed for this race would be on Lewis Hamilton, the British driver who was currently in line to win the driver's championship. The next best favourite, the German Nico Rosberg, was Hamilton's teammate at Mercedes.

Matthew walked over to the garage and looked in. Hamilton was standing off to the side. He looked relaxed and at ease, an important observation given how much pressure was on him to deliver the second world title of his career. Matthew liked Hamilton's chances in the race, and seeing the driver calm before the first practice was a good sign. The majority of the bets would be on Hamilton, and the key for Matthew was keeping the payout on a Hamilton win small, while offering more attractive odds for Rosberg and the rest of the field, thereby enticing bettors to wager against Hamilton winning.

Matthew frowned as he heard a familiar laugh.

"Quite right, quite right," Mary smiled, nodding her head.

Lewis smiled back, laughing along with her.

Matthew blinked in shock.

Just then, Mary turned her head and saw Matthew standing outside the garage. She waved him over. An attendant frowned at Matthew, inspecting his badge, then lifted the rope to allow him to pass into the restricted area.

"Lewis, this is Matthew. He works with me at Crawley Group," Mary said, touching Matthew's arm when he reached her side. "Matthew, Lewis Hamilton."

"Hello," Lewis said politely, shaking Matthew's hand.

"Hello," Matthew said slowly, still reeling from the fact that Mary somehow knew the man. "Good luck in the race."

"Thanks," Lewis nodded before turning to Mary. "All right, well we're going out on track soon. When will you be back?"

"I'm busy with work," Mary said lightly. "Win the race and perhaps I'll congratulate you on Sunday."

"I'll hold you to that," Lewis grinned. He leaned over and exchanged cheek kisses with Mary.

"Good luck, darling," Mary smiled at him.

"Thanks," Lewis said warmly. He nodded to Matthew, then turned and was taken away by his engineer to prepare for the practice session.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Mary asked Matthew casually, walking out of the garage.

"Yes, I think so," Matthew answered, keeping his hands to himself as he followed her. "How do you know Lewis Hamilton?"

"I can't quite remember, exactly. Through mutual friends, I think," Mary shrugged. "We probably met in London, or maybe Monaco. That's where he lives."

"Yes, I knew that," Matthew replied.

"Why do you ask?" Mary inquired, looking at him.

"No reason," Matthew said, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just how well do you know him?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Mary said. "Does it matter?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

"I tested the presentation on the monitor," Mary continued. "The slides look good. I think I'm done for the day. Did you want to watch practice from the box or the grandstand?"

"The box, I think," Matthew said. "Better views of the whole track and it's more private."

"All right, but keep your distance," Mary teased, smiling at him over her shoulder. "We wouldn't want to be arrested before the race, would we?"

Matthew watched her walk ahead of him towards the elevators. Her form fitting, light beige pantsuit giving him numerous ideas that would be considered indecent in most countries, and perhaps even illegal in Abu Dhabi.

"No, we wouldn't want that," Matthew muttered, trailing behind her at a respectable distance.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England November 2014**

"There you are," Anna said, coming into Alex's office.

"Here I am," Alex replied, typing away on his keyboard. "How may I help you?"

"Well, about earlier this week at my flat, when you ran off, I hope you hadn't thought me rude," Anna said.

"Certainly not," Alex said, looking at his monitors. "I overstayed my welcome. You were obviously fine. I had no reason to remain any longer than I did."

Anna frowned at his indifferent tone. "Well, you see, it's just that I'm not really used to working with anyone. I'm usually taking instructions from Mary and giving instructions to the staff. I don't have much practice working side-by-side with…"

"Oh, please," Alex said, holding up his hand, his eyes still focused on the monitors. "Don't apologize. I had a lovely evening. I'm glad that you don't have a concussion. Now, unless there was anything else that you wanted, I should focus on my work."

Anna swallowed down her annoyance.

"What are you working on?" she asked. "Did you want to go over our notes before reporting to Mr. Crawley like you suggested?"

Alex finally stopped typing and looked up at her, his eyes cold and indifferent.

"I think you made it perfectly clear what you are and aren't willing to share, so we'll just continue as we were, then. You report to Lady Mary. I'll report to Matthew. No need for us to interact any further," he said in a clipped tone. "That should suit you."

Anna opened her mouth to retort, but hesitated.

"Good day, Miss Smith," Alex said, returning to his typing.

Anna turned and left, balling her hands into fists as she returned to her office.

 **Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

Mary adjusted her headscarf and removed her sunglasses as she and Matthew walked through the ornate arch and across the polished floor. Vibrant floral mosaics stretched from each wall, across the floor and up and around the doorways. Mary looked up at the gorgeous crystal chandelier and stepped through into the main prayer hall, following the velvet ropes and keeping her hands clasped together in front of her.

"It's remarkable, truly remarkable," Matthew whispered, gazing about at the domed ceilings, the white and gold decorated columns, the colourful designs on the numerous chandeliers and the intricately woven carpeted floor.

"It's the world's largest carpet, you know," he said, looking across the immense room. "Absolutely brilliant."

"I prefer _La Sagrada Familia_ in Barcelona," Mary replied quietly, thankful that the headscarf covered her smirk.

Matthew frowned at her.

"But this place is quite impressive, yes," Mary admitted.

They continued on their tour, eventually making their way outside. Matthew led her past the extravagant covered arcades, pointing out that the many columns were made of marble and mother of pearl, and that the serene reflecting pools outside the Mosque were designed to capture the different phases of the moon. They walked into the formal gardens with its manicured hedges and towering palm trees, Matthew reciting numerous facts about how materials and plants were imported from all across Europe and Asia to be incorporated into the design.

"I underestimated your enthusiasm," Mary noted, smiling to herself as they walked.

"You know how interested I am in architecture," Matthew replied. "This isn't a Yorkshire Village Church, you know. It's considered the number one thing to see in Abu Dhabi on Tripadvisor."

"The architecture is impressive, yes, but it's still a place of worship," she noted. "I'm just surprised you wanted to come here, is all."

"Why wouldn't I?" Matthew asked, glancing over at her.

"Because you're not religious," Mary replied.

"It's not that I'm not religious," Matthew scoffed.

"It's just that you don't believe in God," Mary said.

"I believe in God," Matthew nodded. "I just don't think he has much time for me, is all, so I try not to disturb him."

"Do you truly think that?" Mary asked. "That God has no time for you?"

"Why? Do you believe in God?" Matthew countered.

"I don't pretend to have much credit with him. I'm not even sure that he exists," Mary smiled ruefully. "But if he does, I like to believe that he thinks I've done something good at some point in my life, at least. Whether it's enough to overlook the rest of it, who's to say?"

"I don't think that God is overly concerned about the majority of our transgressions," Matthew said lightly. "But I would hope that he has many other souls who are more worthy of his time than us."

"So we're cursed then, you and I?" Mary asked. "There's nothing else after this life for us?"

"If there is, and we're forgiven, I'll be grateful for it," Matthew said, looking at her intently. "In the meanwhile, with no guarantee of anything beyond this life, I intend to make the most of the time that I have."

Mary nodded and looked away, scanning the gardens as they continued on.

"Why did you come to London when Papa summoned you?" Mary asked suddenly. "You were doing very well for yourself. It's not the first time that he asked you to leave Manchester for the family. Why now? What changed?"

"Patrick died," Matthew answered simply.

"Yes, but it isn't as if the two of you were very close," Mary said. "You didn't even show up for the funeral."

"I didn't move to London out of any obligation to Patrick," Matthew explained. "I came because the family needed me, more than they needed me before, and I owed it to your Papa to come."

"Were you truly afraid for the company with me at the helm?" Mary frowned. "Or was it that you saw this is your chance to take over?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "If I wanted you out, then I would have insisted your division be taken away from you before I arrived."

"How do I know you didn't ask for exactly that and Papa just refused you?" Mary asked.

"Because you know that if I had asked for it, he would have done it," Matthew replied.

Mary looked away.

"I was afraid that if I didn't come, then Robert would find someone else," Matthew continued. "I knew he wouldn't let you run things on your own, and I didn't trust him to find someone any more competent than Patrick was. At least with me involved, it ensured that you maintained control of your own division, and that would give me one less thing to worry about while I fixed Patrick's operation."

Mary looked back at him and blinked in surprise. "So that's it? Gallant Matthew rides to our rescue with no thought for what he might get out of it?"

"I always consider what I might get out of any situation," he smiled at her. "But, given our history, I felt a duty, apart from anything else, to do what I could."

"And now, a few months into it, what do you think of your situation, Mr. Crawley?" she teased.

"I'm guardedly optimistic, Lady Mary," he smiled. "How would you rate my performance so far?"

"I'd say you're managing to pull your weight," she said haughtily. "Surprisingly."

Matthew smiled and shook his head.

They walked back around and returned to the reflecting pools. Mary took a deep breath and smiled up at the blue sky.

"This is quite lovely," she said. "I could grow used to it."

"Used to this?" Matthew asked in disbelief.

"Not Abu Dhabi," Mary arched her eyebrows at him. "Just being away. No calls, no appointments, no demands. Just escaping. I could get used to that."

"Lady Mary Crawley leave London?" Matthew smirked. "I don't believe it."

"Maybe just for a little while," Mary shrugged. "My life has always been about my family, and the company. It's nice to not have to deal with all of that sometimes."

Matthew regarded her for a few moments.

"If you could get away," he asked. "Where would you go? What would you do?"

"I couldn't tell you. Why bother thinking about it?" Mary said. "It isn't as though any of it will come true."

"Well it certainly won't if you don't allow yourself to at least consider the possibility," Matthew replied.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," Mary shook her head. "Who would even take such an idea seriously, and not just dismiss it as some phase I'm going through?"

"I would," Matthew replied softly.

"Let's head back," Mary changed the subject. "I'm getting hungry, and I've had quite enough introspection for one day, to say nothing for the fact that I want to change clothes."

Matthew walked with her out of the Mosque and down to the parked hotel limo, waiting to chauffeur them back to their suite.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, November 2014**

"Holy fuck," Alex groaned, putting the dumbbells back on the metal rack. He grabbed a towel and threw it around his neck, walking down the hall to the foyer. The doorbell rang once more and he cursed again. He considered not answering it on the first ring, but now he wanted to give whoever it was who interrupted his exercises a fairly cold glare and a quick rebuke.

He looked through the peephole, then frowned and took a deep breath before opening the door.

"How did you find out where I live?" he asked his visitor.

"The same way you found me at Egg London," Anna said. "I traced the GPS signal on your mobile."

"Impressive," Alex nodded. "How can I help you?"

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be? It is Friday night, after all," Alex said.

"Clearly I don't, seeing as I'm here," Anna replied. "May I come in, please?"

Alex stepped aside and allowed her into his flat. He took her coat and hung it up in the closet, then ushered her through to the living room.

"I only have water and milk," he said plainly as he went into the kitchen.

"Water is fine, thank you," Anna replied. He brought two glasses back out and handed one to her before taking a seat.

"Now, what is this about?" he asked.

"I came here to apologize, for the way I treated you earlier this week," Anna said carefully.

"There's really no need," Alex shook his head.

"Well, I think there is," Anna said.

"Fine. Your apology is accepted. Anything else?" Alex shrugged.

"Why do you do that?" Anna asked, frowning at him in exasperation.

"Do what?" he shook his head.

"This act of yours. This whole behaving as though you're indifferent and blasé about everything. Impersonating a robot. Why do you do that?" Anna asked.

"I don't know what you're referring to. This is who I am. I'm sorry if my personality is not exciting enough for you," Alex replied cooly.

"This isn't who you are," Anna shook her head. "You're just acting this way because of how I behaved towards you after we got back to my place from the nightclub. But I wasn't angry with you, at least not really. I just…"

"Wanted me to leave you alone. Yes, I gathered that," Alex interjected.

Anna sighed and rubbed her hands together. "What is it going to take then? I already said that I was sorry for the way I treated you."

"And I already told you that I accepted your apology. What else is there?" Alex asked.

"You're actually going to make me say it, aren't you?" Anna said bitterly, looking at the floor.

"Apparently I am, since I have no clue what you're talking about," Alex said.

"You…" Anna said, hesitating, then looking at him and trying again. "You are…you were...interested in me, and you're hurt now because you feel that I don't reciprocate your feelings, but I…"

"Before you embarrass yourself any further," Alex interrupted. "You were right about me all along. I only talked to you and spent time with you to gain your confidence so I could find out what you knew about Patrick's murder. But you saw through that, so there's no need for me to keep up the charade any longer. Congratulations. You're free of me."

Anna glared at him, her lips curling into a snarl, her eyes narrowing. She finally huffed and rose from the couch, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Fine, if this is the way you want to do this, then fine," she said, her eyes locked on his. "The thing is, I've never had anyone…" she swallowed before continuing. "I've never had anyone care about me before. I never had time for that sort of thing. My priority has always been the work. Lady Mary…Mary…gave me a job when I hit rock bottom, when my own family had written me off, when I didn't have any friends left. I owe everything to her and Crawley Group."

"Your loyalty to Lady Mary and to the company is obvious," Alex shook his head. "You don't need to explain…"

"Just fucking shut up and listen to me, would you?" Anna said, waving her hand at him to stop him from talking.

Alex stopped talking.

"I was always suspicious of Mr. Crawley, and by extension, of you, because of my experience dealing with Mr. Patrick, and because Mary was so angry that Lord Grantham summoned Mr. Crawley here. I assumed that when you were being helpful, and even when you seemed to like me, that you had a hidden agenda. I'm just not used to a man being…into me...for just me."

Alex nodded slightly, waiting for her to continue.

"I know that I accused you of some rather deplorable things the other day, and I can understand that I may have hurt you in the process, but part of not expecting a man to care about me is not being particularly good at expressing my own feelings. It's just easier to avoid them altogether," Anna said nervously.

Alex swallowed. "And what feelings are you referring to?" he asked quietly.

Anna bit her lower lip, then pressed on.

"Curiosity when we argued that first time in your office," Anna replied, taking a step toward him. "Amusement and excitement when I danced with you for four songs at the Black and White Ball after I said I'd only give you one. Relief and gratitude when you showed up at the nightclub, and absolute terror that I'd ruined everything when I kicked you out of my flat the other morning."

Alex's mouth fell open.

"So, if you really are scheming, or trying to use me, or something like that, then it seems I've got a problem, because I'm…interested…in you, and worse luck, I think you're beautiful," Anna said, looking down at the floor anxiously.

Alex slowly stood up from his chair. Anna closed the distance between them.

"I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad moment," he whispered, staring at her lips. "I'm a bit sweaty."

"We'll need to do something about that," Anna replied, coming into his arms and kissing him.

 **Royal Suite, The Ritz-Carlton Abu Dhabi, Grand Canal, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

"Sheikh Mohammed is the most senior person in the meeting, so he must be addressed first," Mary said, directing her laser pointer at the list of names displayed on the television. "They'll shake your hand in greeting, but always use your right hand, never your left. Wait until they withdraw their hand first before you take yours back. The right hand is also for handing them anything, and eating as well. Never use your left."

"Right hand for everything, got it," Matthew said, resting his head on his palm as he watched from the sofa.

"As this is the first face-to-face meeting, the majority of the time will be spent on getting to know us," Mary continued. "They'll likely ask about our families, how we know each other, and so on. Status is considered more important than achievement, so the fact that you went to Cambridge is likely to be just as impressive to them as it is to me."

"Don't mention Cambridge, got it," Matthew deadpanned.

Mary grinned at him.

"Under no circumstances should you inquire about their wives or girlfriends," she warned. "Questions about female family members are considered rude and improper. Arabs are very private about their women."

"Of course they are. It's easier that way," Matthew joked. "They must find it hard to keep all their wives' names straight."

"Matthew," Mary frowned. "We're here to do business, not to judge."

"Fine," Matthew sighed. "Just be careful around them. I wouldn't want you to become a Sheikh's junior wife just to close a business deal."

"Well, if he's cute, why not? This is a rather lucrative arrangement," Mary smirked.

"Ha ha," Matthew pouted.

Mary laughed and ran through the slides again, flipping through them as they scrolled across the television screen.

 **Formula 1 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

"Our projections are conservative, out of an abundance of caution," Mary smiled politely, then turned back to the coloured graph on the screen. "However we already expect an above average return in the first year, with healthy increases to follow. We see London as the emerging destination for both casual and discerning players well into the next decade, a ready alternative to Las Vegas and Macau. The tourist base and population are already there, it's simply a matter of giving them what they want."

The men seated around the conference table nodded and exchanged looks with each other.

"Mr. Matthew," one of them said, looking over at Matthew. "Our analysis is that traditionally visitors to London are looking for a different experience than what your casinos currently provide. How do you expect this new expansion plan will be received? Can London truly be all things to all people?"

"Lady Mary's market research supports her theories," Matthew replied. "A visit to London is no longer about going to see Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. We offer Michelin starred restaurants, award winning shows in the West End, and top tier sports entertainment. Pairing our casino brand with all that London has to offer gives us an attractive package. We already have far more history and culture than any of our rival cities, and, as Lady Mary has noted, leveraging that strength is our advantage."

"The business model itself is entirely transferrable, even to non-gaming applications," Mary added, advancing to the next slide. "Ours is a European brand, and we foresee that a regional profile is preferred to a global one. Customers are far more inclined to spend their money with a local business, rather than someone trying to muscle in from overseas. Here in the United Arab Emirates, casino table games of course are illegal, however the manner in which gaming machines are marketed and presented at race courses and gaming facilities is within our area of expertise. We also can offer staff training and targeted guest satisfaction. Our business isn't merely gambling, it's giving our customers a transformative experience when they visit our properties. That approach can work just as successfully at a luxury resort as at a casino, and the added advantage is that it doesn't have to be our name on the front of the property. It can be yours."

For the rest of the meeting, Matthew and Mary answered questions for the Dubai-based businessmen. Trading off and adding on to each other's replies seamlessly, they fielded all inquiries with aplomb. By the time they had the staff escort their guests downstairs for a tour of the paddock prior to the race qualifying session, the businessmen were all smiles, shaking Matthew's hand and nodding to Mary as they left.

"That went well, I thought," Matthew said lightly.

Mary walked over to the conference table and pressed a button on the console remote. The blinds lowered over the windows, blocking out the setting sun in the distance.

"What did you think?" Matthew asked, watching her curiously.

"I think that we're a rather good team," Mary smiled, coming over and pulling him to her, kissing him hard.

"Mary!" Matthew choked out between kisses. "This is…this is…"

"What? Forbidden? Indecent?" Mary smiled, darting her tongue past his open lips.

"Yes! And…and…even illegal!" Matthew struggled, his arms still holding her close.

"I suppose you'll have to gauge whether it's worth the risk," Mary smiled, kissing him firmly once more before finally stepping apart.

"You were wonderful, darling," she said, wiping her lipstick from his face. "It could not have gone any better. They were hanging on our every word."

"They were quite interested, and not just in evaluating you as future wife material," Matthew smiled, going over to the side table and taking a bottle of water. "I'm cautiously optimistic. There's a lot of potential partnering with them, both back home and here."

"I hope so," Mary nodded. "If I can just show Papa that we have investors and partners ready to move forward with us, he'll approve the expansion and the plan for the management company. We can make a go of this, Matthew. I know we can."

"It's very ambitious," Matthew agreed, sipping his water. "And I agree. The company is a bit stagnant and something must be done."

Matthew went over to the conference table and collected the tablet computers. Mary watched him thoughtfully, the high of her presentation and his unwavering support still making her blood rush.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, November 2014**

"I'm not entirely useless, you know," Anna smiled, sipping her wine as she watched him move about her kitchen.

"No, you're not," Alex nodded. "Still, judging by how pristine everything in here is, I'd say you've cooked less than a dozen times in the past year," he joked, smiling as the steaks sizzled in the pan when he turned them over.

"Well, it was always more convenient to just eat at the office. If I'm honest, the food there is quite good, and better than I could manage on my own," Anna said.

"It is," Alex agreed, picking up his own wine and coming over to her. "But I should hope you don't do this with the cook at Crockfords." He leaned down and kissed her softly.

"No," Anna smiled up at him. "Daisy has a boyfriend, sadly."

Alex laughed and went back to the range. "If you want to prove to me just how domestic you are, you can set the table and check to see if the rice is done."

She came up behind him and hugged him. He turned his head and kissed her, before she slipped away and went rummaging through the cupboards.

Alex swallowed and focused on not overcooking the steaks.

Anna smirked as she went about setting the table.

When Alex brought their food out to the dining room, he blinked at the display before him. The table was set for a lavish meal, complete with fine china, silverware, linen napkins and candles.

"What?" Anna smiled, standing on the other side of the table. "I like things to be in order."

"Now I'm nervous that the food won't measure up to the standard of the place settings," he said, putting the plates down and holding her chair out for her.

"I'll be the judge of that," Anna smiled. She lifted her wine glass as he took his seat next to her.

"What shall we toast to?" Alex asked, raising his own glass.

"How about to Mary and Mr. Crawley?" Anna suggested after thinking for a moment.

"All right," Alex frowned in confusion. "To Lady Mary and Matthew. Why the two of them exactly?"

"Well, we never would have met if they weren't thrown together, would we?" Anna said.

"That's true," Alex smiled, clinking glasses with her before taking a sip of the Merlot.

* * *

After a lovely meal, and a bit of a water fight while clearing the table and washing the dishes, they settled on to Anna's couch with fresh glasses, filled this time with Ice Wine from a bottle Alex brought over.

"This is quite nice," Anna said, licking her lips. "Where did you get this from?"

"It's from a vineyard in Canada, actually," Alex nodded. "Discovered it on a trip a few years ago and I've been addicted to it ever since. It was a bugger to import at first, but thankfully they sell it at Tesco now, so far more convenient."

"Mmm," Anna smiled. She finished her drink, then took his flute glass and hers and placed them on the coffee table.

"Shouldn't we deal with the elephant in the room?" she asked, snuggling closer to him and playing with his hair.

"And what would that be?" Alex asked.

"Green, and Mr. Patrick, and what both of us have learned," Anna said.

"Didn't you already send your report to Lady Mary?" Alex asked.

"I did," Anna nodded. "I don't know if she's going to tell Mr. Crawley or not, though."

"That's for them to sort out," Alex said, kissing her lightly.

"What about you? Did you report to him yet?" Anna asked.

"No," Alex shook his head. "I told you. There was nothing urgent that required his attention. He'll probably ask me after he lands on Monday."

"I see," Anna nodded.

"Did you tell Lady Mary about my role in all this?" Alex asked cautiously.

"I told her that you showed up as I was dealing with Green," Anna replied. "I expect she'll have quite a few questions for me about you."

"Is that right?" Alex smiled. "What sort of questions?"

"Oh, you know Mary," Anna smiled. "If she doesn't discuss the investigation with Mr. Crawley, she'll want me to try and find out what you know."

"Really? That's rather sneaky, isn't it?" Alex said.

"Very," Anna smiled. She reached her hand over and massaged his leg, moving up his thigh.

Alex swallowed, looking down at her hand, then to her eyes.

"She would probably tell me to do everything I could to get you to talk," Anna said sultrily, grinning as she felt his arousal through his jeans.

"And just how…" Alex cleared his throat. "Just how far would you go to do that?"

"Oh, I'd probably use any means necessary," Anna nodded, leaning over and kissing his neck as her hand remained active in his lap. "It's hard to say. I don't know if you would be susceptible to my feminine wiles or not."

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," Alex grunted, his hand moving over to caress her bottom.

"True," Anna smiled against his skin. "I'll have to distract you somehow to get what I want."

Alex groaned, his voice catching in his throat.

"And how do you know this isn't all part of my plan?" he stammered. "Perhaps I intend to take advantage of you and find out what you know?"

"That's a possibility," Anna nodded. "I guess we won't know who comes out on top until we actually do the deed, will we?"

"I cannot see any other way around this conundrum, no," Alex managed.

"Do you remember the other morning, on this very couch, when you told me you don't go to a woman's bed without an invitation?" she asked, licking his ear.

"Yes," he whispered, his jeans feeling quite uncomfortable as her hand continued to work on him.

"Consider this an invitation, Alex," Anna growled. "Take me to bed, and let's see who will break first."

 **Formula 1 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

Mary smiled as she looked over the signed Letter of Intent once again. It was more than she expected to get on this trip, and though it wasn't a finished contract, it was a promise to continue dealing, which was rare to get on the first meeting.

"Perhaps we should go out to the Grandstand," Matthew smiled at her. "You're flying so high that I'm afraid you might hit your head on the ceiling."

"I'm above the clouds," Mary grinned, handing him back the papers to stow away in his briefcase. She sipped her tonic water and looked out on to the track as the cars finished the formation lap. The race would begin in moments.

Matthew's finger swiped back and forth across his smartphone screen. He smiled mysteriously as he scrolled through his browser window.

"What is it?" Mary laughed. "You look rather pleased with yourself."

"I am," Matthew nodded. He turned and showed her his phone display. "This is the total sum of all the bets we've taken in for the race."

Mary blinked in surprise. "My," she said. "That's quite a lot. I suppose whether it ends up being a successful day for you depends on who wins."

"Yes, and no," Matthew smiled, fiddling with his phone again and turning back to her.

He explained further. "In addition to taking bets on who wins the race, we also offer odds on who will finish in the top 3 podium places. Since Mercedes have dominated every race this season, many people bet that some combination of Hamilton and Rosberg will finish in the top 3. They pay extra to cover the various possibilities."

"Like a tricast bet in horse racing," Mary nodded.

"Precisely," Matthew grinned, showing her his phone. "This top number is the amount we expect to profit if Hamilton wins. The second number is the amount we expect to profit if Rosberg wins, and this third number is the amount we expect to profit if one of them wins but the other doesn't finish in the top 3."

Mary's eyes widened as she read the numbers.

"So regardless of the outcome, you win," she nodded. "That's rather brilliant."

"Quite," Matthew smiled at her knowingly.

They rose from their seats and watched as the red lights came on to begin the start of the race. Mary swallowed nervously as she waited. In her business, large sums of money were won and lost each day, and she didn't get too caught up in the numbers. She knew that Matthew would bring in a substantial amount from today's race, depending on the outcome, but she had no idea that he would profit so handsomely, regardless of the result.

The lights went out and the cars roared forward. Lewis, starting second, accelerated past Rosberg down the straight and reached the first corner ahead of his teammate, taking the lead in the race.

Mary clapped as the crowd applauded loudly. Matthew smiled and remained quiet. They took their seats again and paid rapt attention as the laps unfolded.

Halfway through the race, Lewis had built a comfortable lead, and as he kept going along at a reasonable pace, radio communication from Rosberg indicated that he was having a technical problem with his car. Mary's pulse jumped as other drivers passed Rosberg's injured Mercedes on the track, shuffling him out of the top 3 as he struggled to maintain speed.

Mary looked over at Matthew in disbelief. Matthew smiled at her and kept watching the race.

As the laps ticked down towards the end of the race, three things became readily apparent. First, Lewis was going to finish ahead of Rosberg and win the driver's championship, even though his lead in the race was dropping with each lap. Second, there was no way that Rosberg was going to finish in the top 3, his limping Mercedes having fallen out of the top 10. Above all though, the end result was that Matthew was going to make millions off the race.

Mary leapt to her feet and cheered as Lewis crossed the finish line, pumping his fists in victory. He stopped at the side of the track and was handed a British flag from one of the race marshals. Spinning his wheels, he took a lap of honour around the circuit, waving the Union Jack as the crowd applauded the new World Champion.

"Shall we go down and see Lewis?" Matthew suggested. "You can congratulate him like you promised, celebrate his win. There'll be television cameras everywhere."

"I'll send him a text later," Mary grinned. "Let's go back to the hotel and have dinner. It's been a wonderful result for the company."

Matthew smiled wide as she leaned towards him.

"I think that you deserve a special bonus for such an exceptional performance, darling," she said huskily, looking at him with dark eyes before turning and heading for the lift without another word.

Matthew swallowed as he hurried to follow her out of the luxury box and down the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

**Previously:**

 **Formula 1 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, November 2014**

As the laps ticked down towards the end of the race, three things became readily apparent. First, Lewis was going to finish ahead of Rosberg and win the driver's championship, even though his lead in the race was dropping with each lap. Second, there was no way that Rosberg was going to finish in the top 3, his limping Mercedes having fallen out of the top 10. Above all though, the end result was that Matthew was going to make millions off the race.

Mary leapt to her feet and cheered as Lewis crossed the finish line, pumping his fists in victory. He stopped at the side of the track and was handed a British flag from one of the race marshals. Spinning his wheels, he took a lap of honour around the circuit, waving the Union Jack as the crowd applauded the new World Champion.

"Shall we go down and see Lewis?" Matthew suggested. "You can congratulate him like you promised, celebrate his win. There'll be television cameras everywhere."

"I'll send him a text later," Mary grinned. "Let's go back to the hotel and have dinner. It's been a wonderful result for the company."

Matthew smiled wide as she leaned towards him.

"I think that you deserve a special bonus for such an exceptional performance, darling," she said huskily, looking at him with dark eyes before turning and heading for the lift without another word.

Matthew swallowed as he hurried to follow her out of the luxury box and down the hall.

 **Chapter 7:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 2004**

"Papa?" Mary called as she came into the library. "Carson said you wished to see me."

"Yes, Mary," Robert said, motioning to the couch as he looked through some papers. "Have a seat."

Mary went over and sat down, resting her hands in her lap as she waited for her father to turn around and address her. Eventually, he put his papers down and, clasping his hands behind his back, slowly paced before her. He would look at her from time to time, but mainly kept staring up at the portraits of the past Earls on the wall, even when he finally spoke.

"Mary, you know how important you are to the family, don't you?" Robert asked.

"Yes, Papa," Mary nodded, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "You needn't remind me."

"I rely upon you, Mary," Robert continued, unfazed by her tone or her reply. "Your Mama and I, we expect you to watch out for your sisters. You understand our position and the duty that comes with it better than they do. They're still a bit young to truly grasp what being a Crawley means."

"Yes, Papa," Mary sighed, rolling her eyes without hesitation now. Of course she knew all of this. She'd been drilled on it since she was twelve years old.

"Our world isn't for everyone, Mary," Robert said. "Anyone who you, or your sisters, choose to bring into your trust will one day need to be told about what we do, about who we are. I don't need to tell you that the average person would not necessarily see our way of life as being particularly...acceptable."

"I'm not dating a police officer behind your back, Papa," Mary said.

"No, no, of course you aren't," Robert smiled. "I do worry about your sisters, though. Sybil is rather headstrong and Edith, well, she doesn't have as many advantages as you."

"She has none at all," Mary grumbled, still wondering what the point of all this was. "Don't worry, Papa. We all had the same lessons growing up. Edith and Sybil are aware of their obligations to the family."

"Good, good," Robert said, nodding seriously. "We Crawleys must stick together, Mary. It is paramount that our family, our company, survives, come what may. You're the eldest. You will have the most responsibility. When your schooling is over, I intend to have you take over operations in London, if you're found to be ready to handle that."

Mary blinked in surprise. This was news to her. She always thought London was meant for Patrick alone.

"I will be," she said firmly, looking at her Papa with supreme confidence.

"We'll see," Robert said cautiously. "You won't lack for education or opportunity, Mary. I'll make sure of that. But, duty above all. I cannot emphasize that credo enough. If you are to have any role in the future of this family, you must never waver from that."

"Yes, Papa," Mary smiled, visions of her future as the head of the family dancing in her mind.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, November 2014**

"Mercy, please!" Anna groaned, weakly pushing Alex away. She struggled to catch her breath as he moved up her body, nuzzling her stomach, kissing her breasts, her neck, her lips, then pulling her into his embrace.

"Good morning," he smiled, kissing the top of her head, rubbing her back as she stopped shaking.

"What's the time?" she asked, still trying to calm herself.

"Seven," Alex replied. "I woke up for some reason, and was going to just go back to sleep, but then I saw you resting so peacefully and decided…not to."

Anna laughed. "My alarm would have gone off in a half hour anyway. For once in my life, I'd like to sleep in until I woke up naturally," she mumbled, taking a deep breath and running her hand through her tousled hair.

"I'm sorry," Alex smiled. "I'll never wake you up that way again."

"Now hold on," Anna said quickly, looking at him. "Let's not be rash. I'll take you over an alarm clock anytime."

She kissed him lazily, then curled into his chest.

"God, I know I sound like a starry-eyed schoolgirl, but last night was…" she began, blushing as she burrowed her head into his shoulder.

"I know," Alex said quietly, kissing the top of her head. "For me, too."

"You don't need to pretend, you know, not for me," Anna laughed, tracing her finger over his stomach. "I can't imagine you become so talented without getting quite a bit of practice."

"You'd be surprised," Alex laughed. "I'd be willing to put my decidedly un-sordid history against yours any day."

"I don't think that's necessarily a smart thing to talk about the morning after we've made love for the first time," Anna grinned, lifting her head and kissing him.

"Dare I hope there will be a second time, then?" Alex asked.

"You're joking, right?" Anna laughed. "If tomorrow wasn't Monday and we didn't have to go into the office, I may not let you leave this bed."

"Well, our bosses aren't due back until tomorrow evening," Alex smiled. "Perhaps I can convince you to work from home?"

"Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, you know," Anna teased. "A time for lazy pursuits like gardening, baking, catching up on correspondence and getting ready for the week ahead, not for a sex marathon."

"It's too cold for gardening, you don't bake, and if you're saying you'd rather write emails than spend the day with me, I'm going to be quite insulted," Alex smiled. "I think what you really want is for me to get up and make you breakfast, then go out for a walk together somewhere, stop in some book shops maybe, before getting groceries for dinner tonight, and the sex marathon, as you put it, can resume after you're re-energized."

"Should I be scared that you know me so well so soon?" Anna asked.

"No," Alex shook his head before looking at her intently. "You should be scared about how desperately I want to know more."

"I don't scare easily, Mr. Lewis," Anna grinned, moving on top of him and kissing him hard.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 2014**

"Where is Mary?" Cora asked her other two daughters, frowning as she glanced at the large clock across the room.

"She texted me just now. She's on her way," Sybil replied, sipping her drink. "She was tied up at work."

"It's poor form to be so late for dinner," Cora shook her head.

"Well, she isn't the only one," Edith shrugged, waving her own mobile in her hand. "Matthew says he's running behind as well."

"Matthew can be as late as he likes," Cora replied. "We're hosting him. It reflects badly upon us if we aren't all here when he comes in."

Edith and Sybil could only shrug at each other in disbelief.

Carson wandered past the ladies and out into the foyer. He stopped as he heard the lock turning and stood at attention as Mary opened the front door.

"Ah, Carson," Mary smiled. "I hope everyone hasn't given up on us."

"They're still in the parlour, my Lady," Carson nodded. He took her coat, then blinked in surprise as Matthew came in behind her.

"Mr. Crawley," Carson said crisply. "Good evening. The family is awaiting you in the parlour."

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew smiled, removing his coat and handing it to the butler. "We would have gotten here sooner, but someone's idea of 'just five more minutes' ended up taking half an hour."

"Don't lie to Carson, it's ill-mannered," Mary smirked at him.

Carson frowned slightly in confusion as he watched Mary and Matthew walk through to the parlour together, laughing and smiling. Shaking his head, he went over to hang their coats in the hall closet, then continued on through to the kitchen to check on dinner.

"Mary! Matthew! Finally!" Cora declared as they came in.

"Hello Mama," Mary said, exchanging cheek kisses with her mother. "My apologies for our being tardy, but Matthew's absolutely rubbish at negotiating London traffic. Apparently a Japanese supercar is only as fast as the skill of its driver, or lack thereof. I would have been better off taking the Tube."

"Everyone knows you would never set foot among the unwashed masses," Matthew retorted. He kissed Sybil and Edith in greeting before nodding to Cora.

"Ah! Mary, Matthew," Robert smiled as he came over. "Home is the hunter, home from the hill. You've both been in the wars, I take it?"

"Nothing so dramatic, Papa," Mary smiled, kissing his cheek. "You know how it is when one comes back from a trip. I've spent the entire week clearing the backlog from my desk."

"Your desk would have been clear much earlier if you had allowed Anna to deal with matters in your absence," Matthew joked, taking a Coke with no ice and lime from a footman.

"I'm sorry if I'm not as easily replaced as you," Mary teased, taking a glass of tonic water with lemon. "It seemed that Alex had your division running smoothly the entire time you were gone. It was almost as if you weren't required at all."

"Only because I believe in delegating responsibility and instilling trust instead of intimidating people and micro-managing every last detail," Matthew said lightly, sipping his drink.

"Is that what you call it?" Mary said easily. "Funny, that approach seems to bear a striking resemblance to being lazy and not doing anything."

"Carson," Robert called, looking over at the butler. "Is dinner ready? I think it's time we went in."

"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded. "You may be seated at your leisure."

"Wonderful," Cora smiled. "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Sybil agreed, taking Matthew's arm and guiding him away from Mary and towards the dining room.

"Can't you just try to be nice to him?" Cora hissed, frowning at Mary.

"I think I'm being quite nice to him, actually," Mary replied, falling in step with her mother. "I'm talking directly to him now, aren't I?"

"Is tonight the night we hear about your mystery man?" Edith asked, coming to Mary's other side.

Mary glared at her sister.

"What mystery man?" Cora whispered.

"It's nothing," Mary said quickly.

"Mary hasn't slept in her own bed since before the Black and White Ball weeks ago," Edith said smugly.

"Edith!" Mary snapped.

"Do you have something to tell me, Mary?" Cora frowned.

"If I do, you'll find out when the time is right, Mama," Mary said, smiling politely at her mother, then turning to Edith. "And not a moment before," she warned.

The family were seated around the dining table. Mary deliberately sat next to her parents, leaving Matthew to sit across the table with Sybil and Edith.

"So, how did you enjoy Abu Dhabi?" Sybil asked Mary.

"It was lovely," Mary nodded. "But almost too hot, even now."

Mary cast a sideways glance at Matthew as she took a spoonful of soup.

Matthew pursed his lips and remained quiet, not daring to meet her playful eyes, or think about just what her connotation about their trip implied.

"Matthew, that Letter of Intent from Dubai is quite interesting," Robert said between spoonfuls. "And you're confident that we can trust their sort of people?"

Mary frowned.

"Mary knows them far better than I do," Matthew nodded. "She trusts them, and in the time that I spent with them, they seemed quite pleasant and agreeable. They've obviously looked into Mary's proposal quite thoroughly and they were very impressed, as was I."

Mary smirked and kept eating her soup.

"What's the matter, Robert? Afraid if you take their money, they'll try and convert you into a Muslim?" Cora needled him.

"Hardly," Robert scoffed. "I suppose I'm not used to the idea of having outside investors. We've always managed with our own money."

"Papa, your very business model is built on taking other people's money," Sybil rolled her eyes.

Mary and Edith smiled at each other.

"It's not the same thing," Robert retorted. "We have to be careful about who we deal with. Today it's taking their investment. Tomorrow they'll want shares in the company. The day after, they'll want a seat on the Board, God help us."

"They have no interest in owning the casinos, Papa," Mary rolled her eyes. "They want what everyone wants these days – a proper return on their money."

"See? You have more in common with them than you think, darling," Cora smiled.

Robert sipped his wine as the soup bowls were cleared.

* * *

"God, I thought that Mama and Papa would never retire," Mary chuckled, coming up behind Matthew and hugging him.

"And Sybil and Edith?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Sybil's reading and Edith's playing Candy Crush or something on her iPad," Mary smiled. "Which means we're finally alone."

Her hand moved down his front.

"It's a shame that Mama and Papa are staying over this week," Mary whinged, kissing him below his ear. "I know how much you want to have me in my own bed. Shall I give you something now to tide you over until we get back to your suite?"

"Mary," Matthew frowned, stopping her hand and turning around to face her.

"What is it?" Mary asked in amusement. "Don't tell me you're shy all of a sudden? No one can hear us in this part of the house, I assure you."

"When exactly were you going to get around to telling me that you were investigating Patrick's death?" Matthew asked, looking at her seriously.

Mary blinked. She pulled her hands back from him.

"I don't know. When I had something to report that was worth telling you, I suppose," she answered evenly.

"And sending Anna to interrogate a known felon doesn't qualify as 'something to report' does it?" Matthew demanded, his brow crinkling in annoyance.

"Not if it doesn't yield anything important, no," Mary said, her own pique beginning to stir.

"And what did it yield?" Matthew asked, his tone more of an accusation than a question.

"I'm sure you already know. Didn't Alex tell you?" Mary challenged.

"What he told me was that he saved Anna from being assaulted at gunpoint, and God knows what else. Jesus Christ, Mary. Why didn't you come to me?" Matthew scoffed.

He stepped away from her and looked up at the ceiling as he fumed.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you. You were doing the exact same thing I was!" Mary hissed.

"Except I didn't put Alex at risk, did I?" Matthew glared at her. "He only went after Green when he found out Anna was already on to him."

"Anna is entirely capable of taking care of herself, as she showed. We trained together. I have complete confidence in her abilities. Neither of us expected things to turn violent with Mr. Green," Mary frowned.

"Self-defence classes are for dealing with drunk men at a bar and knife-wielding thieves, not armed criminals," Matthew spat. "If Alex hadn't been there, and something did happen to Anna, what would have been your excuse then? That you did everything right and it all just went into the shit by sheer fluke?"

He crossed his arms in front of him and turned away from her, his face scowling in disgust.

Mary threw her hands up in frustration. "There's risks in our line of work, Matthew, everyone knows that, including Anna. Would you have preferred if I'd gone myself?" she asked.

"I would have preferred if you had come to me in the beginning," Matthew shot back. "We could have planned it out together and avoided unnecessary risks, namely sending Anna into a dangerous situation!"

"If I had come to you, you would have told me you had it under control and to not bother doing anything, that it was none of my concern," Mary said with disdain.

"That's nonsense," Matthew rejected.

"Is it? You aren't particularly good at playing with others, Matthew. The fact that you kept your own investigation a secret from me and even from Papa is a testament to that," Mary nodded. "When were you going to get around to telling me about what you uncovered? When it was convenient for you?"

"That's different," Matthew growled.

"God, you're such a fucking hypocrite," Mary rolled her eyes.

"And you're so stubborn you can't see when you're walking into a colossal fuck-up," Matthew said bitterly. "We're dealing with a murderer, Mary. Did you think that Green would just roll over because Anna chastised him? What the hell kind of plan is that?"

"Green's just an underling, an accomplice," Mary seethed. "We knew he wasn't Patrick's killer. We were just after him for information."

"And you found out how eager he was to cooperate," Matthew said, turning away again.

"What is this truly about? Is it not enough that you're fucking me every night? You feel the need to put me in my place at work as well?" Mary snarled.

"That has nothing to do with it!" Matthew said firmly, staring back at her.

"Oh, I think it has a great deal to do with it, a very great deal," Mary laughed caustically. "You're taking your pound of flesh for all the hardship I put you through. All the teasing, and rebukes, and insults since we were children. You want me on my hands and knees, in private and in public, so you can play the conquerer and stroke that petty ego of yours. Admit it!"

"Admitting that you need help isn't a sign of weakness, Mary. And asking me for help doesn't mean you're capitulating to me, either professionally or personally. Instead of being obsessed with what others think of you and going around trying to prove to everyone how capable you are, perhaps you should focus on getting the job done properly, rather than who looks best and who gets the credit," Matthew shook his head.

"Well, thank you for that," Mary said tightly. "Now, let me take your advice. I'll admit that I want you to leave."

They stared each other down, neither of them blinking.

"As you wish, my Lady," Matthew said through clenched teeth, spinning on his heels and storming from the room.

Mary watched him go, her lip quivering as she heard the front door close behind him.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, December 2014**

Matthew looked out on to the dark shadow that was the River Thames, surrounded by lights on both banks. It was a familiar tapestry laid out before him, lights from the empty office buildings, lights across London Bridge and Millennium Bridge beyond that, rows of lights stretching around the bend of the river to the unmoving London Eye in the distance. There was a sort of permanence to the scene at night. During the day, London was a buzzing metropolis, the view from Matthew's suite changing by the second. Late at night though, with the majority of workers gone to their homes outside the City, and fewer cars roaming about, London resembled more of a sprawling, oversized circuitboard of unchanging and unblinking lights.

It all looked so peaceful and calm.

The door opened behind him and he kept sipping his drink, his eyes still looking out on the City below as footsteps approached.

"You shouldn't be here," Matthew said.

"Where else would I be?" Alex replied.

"With your new girlfriend, warming her bed," Matthew answered.

"I agree, but she insisted that I come check on you, and I'm not allowed back into her bed until I know you're all right," Alex said, getting a beer from the fridge, popping the cap and sitting down on one of the sofas. "Anna's terrified that she's the reason you got in a tiff with Lady Mary."

"How did she find out about…of course," Matthew grumbled. "Anna's not the reason."

"What is the reason, then?" Alex asked. "I have my theories, naturally."

"You're way off, I assure you," Matthew said, his back still facing Alex.

"Is it that you're angry that Lady Mary didn't announce your changed relationship status to His Lordship and the rest of the family at dinner tonight?" Alex asked.

"No," Matthew said petulantly. "Though that was rather annoying."

"According to Anna, Lady Mary apologized for keeping us in the dark about her investigation into Patrick's death, so is it really necessary to lord it over her now still?" Alex asked.

"She never apologized," Matthew shook his head. "She should apologize for it, since she's in the wrong. But, I don't care whether she apologizes or not."

"No, you care if this is just a one-time occurrence, or whether it's an indication of a pattern of behaviour," Alex stated. "You're afraid that the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley doesn't trust you, that she's playing with you, just like when you were younger."

Matthew turned and glanced at him, then looked away and sipped his drink.

"She's spent every evening with you for the past two weeks, she took you along to Abu Dhabi for perhaps the most important meeting of her career, and the two of you are working so well together lately that Anna and I can barely tell when one of you ends and the other begins," Alex continued, an amused tone to his voice.

Matthew frowned at him, then turned away again.

Alex sipped his beer and waited patiently.

"She asked me to leave," Matthew said quietly, still looking out the window.

"And you departed in a storm of righteous indignation, did you?" Alex replied easily.

"What choice did I have?" Matthew asked. "There's no getting through to her when she's angry."

"That sounds familiar," Alex said.

"Funny guy," Matthew grunted and frowned at him.

They both looked up at the beep and clunk of the door unlocking and opening.

"Am I interrupting something?" Mary asked as she came into the suite.

"I was just leaving, Lady Mary," Alex smiled. He got up from the sofa and nodded to Mary as he passed her on his way out.

Mary took off her heels and waited for Alex to close the door behind him before she walked into the living room.

"What are you doing here?" Matthew asked guardedly.

"This is where we sleep, isn't it?" Mary replied, taking a seat on the sofa, keeping a safe distance between them. "Are you saying that I'm no longer welcome?"

"I'd rather not go to bed with things…unresolved…between us," Matthew said, taking a step towards her and stopping behind a chair.

"I agree," Mary said crisply. "I don't intend to go to bed until you and I sort this matter out. People may think I'm one to hold a grudge, but if this is going to drag out like some juvenile suffering contest, then I'd like to know now."

"Does that mean I can't go to bed until I apologize?" Matthew asked.

"Maybe," Mary said carefully. "But I'd rather know that my boyfriend genuinely wants to sleep with me, rather than have him say something he doesn't mean just to placate me."

Matthew took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

"What is it you want, Matthew?" Mary asked. "If you expect me to clear everything I do with you in advance, I can tell you that most certainly is not going to happen."

"Yes, I'm well aware," Matthew laughed ruefully. "And no, that's not what I want."

"Then, what?" Mary asked, holding up her hands. "Why were you truly so angry tonight?"

"It's possible…" he began. "That I may have overreacted a small bit regarding your investigation into Patrick's death. It wasn't my intention to suggest that you had no right to do so, or that you owed anything to me, and if I gave you that impression, then that's my fault, and I apologize for that."

Mary's eyes narrowed as she looked at him and weighed his words.

"I stand by what I said, though," Matthew said slowly. "The way in which Anna went about trying to interrogate Green was dangerous, and unnecessarily so."

"It's equally possible…" she offered. "That I may have presumed that Green was harmless when I should have known better, and I'm willing to admit that Anna going in alone was not what I wanted. It wasn't my intention to suggest that I'm not appreciative of Alex's intervention, or yours, and if I gave you that impression, then that's my fault, and I'm sorry for that."

They regarded each other for a moment, both of them testing out what to say next in their minds.

"Whether you choose to believe it or not, I'm not used to being with someone who knows me as well as you do," Mary said, watching his reaction as she spoke. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours about me since we were teenagers, but the fact is that I can count the number of boyfriends I've had on one hand, and I've always kept them all at arm's length, at least as far as what matters goes. You already know me better than any other man that I've ever been with, and I suppose that is disconcerting in a way. I may have a slight…reluctance…to rely upon you, especially since I've spent so many years trying to succeed on my own to show my parents that I didn't need you."

Matthew allowed a slight smile across his lips before he grew serious once more. He came out from behind the chair and took a seat on the sofa next to Mary.

"Since we're being honest, I never believed any of those rumours about you," he said. "I expect they were all started by petty boys who you rejected or girls who were jealous of you."

Mary rubbed her fingers nervously as she looked at him.

"When we were younger, I thought I did a rather good job of hiding my feelings for you," he went on. "I know now that you were well aware early on, but what you don't know is that the reason I never actually asked you outright for a date, is because I never believed that you would say yes, and I didn't want to deal with the pain of hearing you say no. So, I stayed in the background, and tried to be better – a better student, a better athlete, a better conversationalist, a better businessman. I hoped that eventually, when I found enough courage to approach you properly, that I would be good enough by then, for you to actually consider going out with me."

Mary blinked.

"It is possible…" Matthew said. "That despite the incredible two weeks we've spent together, that a part of me is still a bit…insecure…where your affection is concerned. And, it's equally possible that I'm a bit hung up on the choicest remarks you made about me when we were younger, rather than focusing on what you say in the here and now."

Mary smiled and looked down at her hands.

"Oh, Matthew, don't you know well enough by now? You should pay no attention to the things I say," Mary said, unable to look at him.

His hand reached out and cupped her cheek, raising her face to look at him. She stared at his parted lips, then up at his blue eyes.

"I could never disregard a word you say, Mary," he said softly. "They live in my memory, as fresh as the day they were spoken."

Mary reached up and covered his hand with hers, leaning her cheek into his palm.

"Does that mean you've forgiven me?" she asked quietly.

"I don't think you need my forgiveness," Matthew said, drawing closer to her. "Just don't be afraid to come to me, about anything. You can rely on me, Mary."

"I'll try and remember that," Mary nodded, glancing down at his lips. "Will you allow me to make reparations for my past behaviour?"

"I could be convinced," he nodded, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply.

* * *

Mary stepped beneath the waterfall shower, turning her head as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. Placing her hands on the smooth glass wall, she leaned forward, the hot water falling across her skin, soothing and relaxing.

"Remember your promise," she smiled, her eyes closed as large hands swept up her front and massaged her breasts. "Just washing. You wore me out last night and I'll be useless for the entire day if we go another round."

"I thought you liked it when I didn't do what's expected?" Matthew said smoothly, kissing the nape of her neck.

"Oh, I'd say you're doing exactly what I've come to expect from you," Mary laughed.

She rocked her hips, drawing a groan from him as her bottom came into firm contact with his groin.

"Only washing, darling," she reminded him, feeling his arousal against her backside.

"This is…quite unfair," he swallowed.

"All right," she laughed, stepping forward a bit, remaining in his hold but ceasing her torture of him. "Better?"

"No," he complained. "But it will do for washing."

She smiled and turned around, pushing him out of the spray of the shower and soaping his skin thoroughly.

"Now, about Mr. Green," she said seriously.

"Yes, what would you like to do about him?" Matthew asked.

"He's the only real lead we've got," Mary sighed. "Anna didn't find anything useful in his desk, and we already know from security video that he wasn't at Patrick's penthouse the night that he died. Whoever hired Green to provide the drugs that killed Patrick stayed well out of sight."

"Agreed," Matthew nodded, his hands sliding up and down her back. "Alex traced several large wire transfers to Green's bank account in the weeks leading up to Patrick's death. The problem is that Green's customers paid similar amounts for their purchases. Even Patrick wired money to him from time to time. It's too much trouble to track down every one of the payments back to the source. The last thing we need is some stockbroker with a weekend fetish to get spooked by our asking questions and report us to the police."

"Anna said that Green admitted to her that someone hired him to deal with Patrick, so that at least confirms what we thought – that Patrick was murdered," Mary said. "The question now is why?"

"Alex has been looking into that, but there's nothing untoward about Patrick's business dealings in the months leading up to his death. He was barely at work, didn't have any large debts, no indication of anyone having it in for him," Matthew said, closing his eyes and sighing as Mary bent over and soaped his legs.

"There, all done," she smiled, standing up again.

Matthew smiled, then stepped under the waterfall and rinsed himself off. He shut off the taps and helped Mary out of the shower, wrapping her in a large fluffy towel and kissing her cheek before grabbing a towel of his own.

"As for who Green was working for, I have my theories," Matthew said.

"Matthew, honestly," Mary shook her head. "Tony didn't have anything to do with this. The very idea is mad."

"Green used to work for him, Mary," Matthew said.

"That was years ago, before Green went independent and started dealing in far more dangerous drugs," Mary said. "Why would Tony want Patrick dead? They didn't like each other, granted, but to kill him, Matthew? Over that thing with Mabel from years ago? I can't see it."

"We should still talk to him, Mary," Matthew said.

"I think we should question Green again first," Mary said. "I'm not thrilled at the idea of approaching him after what happened with Anna, but what choice do we have?"

 **Egg London Nightclub, London, England, December 2014**

Felix placed the last batch of used glasses in the industrial dishwasher and closed the lid. Pressing a button, he let the machine run and turned around, resuming his inventory count of the alcohol bottles stacked neatly on the back bar. He liked this time of day the best. Early afternoon. The club was closed, hours to go before the first soundchecks and before the commotion started. He didn't need to inflate the ego of some Gold card waving prat or pour shots for some bitch's Hen night. He could calmly and quietly go about his work without any disturbances.

"We're finished," a voice called. "Have your men deal with the clean up, please."

Felix turned around and nodded. "Yes, sir."

He waited for the men to leave before he waved the bouncers over and pointed them to the back. The bouncers nodded and wandered down the hallway to the backroom. Several minutes later they came out, each of them carrying one end of a long black bag and shuffled with it over to the loading dock.

"Anything going on, Felix?" a waitress asked as she came over to the bar.

"Yeah," Felix answered, not turning around. "Amanda's going to be taking over in the backroom. Anyone asks for some product, send them to her. Spread the word."

"Will do," the waitress said cheerfully. "What's up with Green? He not around?"

"You could say that," Felix replied. "He's going on long term disability. We won't see him around here for quite a while."

"Shame," the waitress shrugged, then grabbed a cup of water and walked away.

"Real shame," Felix said, opening the cooler and counting how many bottles of Grey Goose he had for the evening.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, December 2014**

"What do you think?" Anna asked.

"I think that someone doesn't want us to find out who killed Patrick," Mary sighed, leaning back in her chair and looking out the window.

"Could it be a misdirection of some sort?" Anna asked. "Maybe Green's still alive, but they sent him off somewhere, hiding him from us?"

"I doubt it," Mary said, turning back towards her. "Green was just a lackey. After it became clear that we were on to him, he became expendable."

"Do you think that Lord Gillingham had anything to do with it?" Anna asked.

"No," Mary shook her head. "Matthew isn't convinced, but even he can't think of a motive. Whoever did this had a reason to want Patrick out of the way. I just can't imagine what it could be. Patrick had his moments, of course, but he never did anything to truly run afoul of anyone. He knew the rules as well as the rest of us. Yes, he liked to flaunt our lifestyle and privileges more than anyone else did, but even he wasn't stupid enough to get on the wrong side of the wrong people."

Anna nodded, frowning as she tried to think of some explanation. It seemed every lead they had only resulted in more unanswered questions.

"What does Alex think?" Mary asked.

"He's convinced that Green was killed," Anna replied. "His sources confirmed it, though he doubts a body will ever turn up."

"He's probably right," Mary nodded.

"What does Mr. Crawley say about all this?" Anna asked.

"I haven't spoken to him about Green's disappearance yet," Mary blushed. "We didn't come to work together today. I…I left his hotel early this morning."

Anna smiled and remained quiet.

"Speaking of which, where is Matthew?" Mary asked, glancing at the clock on her computer screen.

"Maybe he needed a bit of a sleep-in to recover," Anna smiled.

"Anna," Mary warned, glaring at her. "Don't be vulgar, or I'll ask you why you seem to have a rather inordinate amount of foundation on your neck."

Anna blushed and looked down at her lap.

Mary smiled, then brought up the calendar on her monitor. "Maybe he had a meeting. What's the date today? Tuesday the?"

"The 9th," Anna nodded.

"The 9th. No, there's nothing in his calendar," Mary said. She blinked, then frowned at the screen.

"December 9th, you say?" she asked distractedly.

"That's right," Anna confirmed.

Mary quickly grabbed her mobile off the desk and got up from her chair.

"Mary?" Anna asked in confusion, getting up from her chair as Mary came around and headed for the door.

"I'm gone for the rest of the day, Anna," Mary announced as she left her office.

"Where are you off to? Will you be reachable?" Anna asked, running after her.

"By text, but no calls, please," Mary said, reaching the elevator and pressing the button several times. "If there's an emergency, message me and I'll call you when I have a moment."

"What is this about? Where are you going?" Anna asked.

"It's a personal matter, Anna," Mary said, glancing at her assistant as the elevator doors opened. "I've got to get to Manchester right away."

 **Blackley Cemetery, Manchester, England, December 2014**

Matthew frowned, his dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from the bright sun. He stood still, the slight bite of the winter air not affecting him. Eventually, he crouched down on one knee and placed the bouquet of flowers on the frozen ground. He remained kneeling, resembling a knight bowing to his liege.

"Hello Papa," he whispered, staring at the headstone. "Mother wanted to be here, but I expect you wouldn't have wanted her to fly all the way from Singapore just for you."

Matthew blinked as he looked at the etchings on the smooth black granite. The numbers seemed wrong. They always seemed wrong. Sixty years of life sounded so small and incomplete. So much had happened in the past seven years since Matthew received that fateful phone call and his world changed forever.

"I know you must find it amusing what's going on with Mary and me," Matthew smiled, shaking his head. "I finally took your advice and told her how I felt. Many years after you told me to, of course, but it's all working out wonderfully so far."

Matthew chuckled wryly, recalling the fatherly advice he received at the dinner table when he was a teenager, and his mother's disbelieving laugh as she tried to contain herself from a fit of giggles over his father's views on romance.

"I know it sounds mad, but I don't believe that I missed anything for waiting," Matthew said. "Mary and I, it's as if we were meant to be together now, as if everything in our past led us to this point."

Matthew smiled as his thoughts turned to his enigma of a girlfriend.

"I just hope I have the strength to be what she needs me to be, Papa," Matthew said seriously, looking down at the flowers. "If you could help me out a bit with that, I would be grateful, of course."

His ears prickled as he heard the crunch of snow in the distance. He turned his head slightly, staying on one knee for the moment. He had passed a handful of people on his way to his father's grave, but as the cemetery was located north of the city centre, it was usually deserted during the week. No one knew he was in Manchester, but his senses remained alert just the same. It was a force of habit that he couldn't turn off even if he tried. From his crouched position, shielded by the row of headstones, he easily made out the thin figure dressed in black walking down the path. When he got a better look at the person approaching, he rose to his feet and blinked in surprise.

"Mary," he said quietly as she reached him. "What are you doing here?"

"I noticed the date," she shrugged, reaching out and rubbing his arm affectionately. "I'm sorry that I didn't remember it last night."

"That's…that's quite all right," Matthew said, still bewildered that she was here. "I wouldn't expect you to remember. I wouldn't expect anyone to, besides Mother."

"I remember, Matthew," Mary nodded solemnly. "I remember the look on your face at the funeral and I remember Mama sending flowers on the first anniversary. It's just been so many years now, and I suppose it's just slipped my mind."

Matthew smiled wanly and looked down at the ground.

"You…flew here?" he asked, looking at her again.

"On BA," she said. "It was faster than driving or taking the train, and I didn't need to rouse the crew to get the jet prepared. I had to rush to go home and change, which delayed me a bit. I will need a drive back to London though."

Matthew smiled and took her hand, squeezing it gratefully.

"I think I can manage that," he nodded.

Mary turned and looked at the headstone. She sighed sadly as she read the inscription and saw the flowers.

"I quite liked your father, you know," she said softly, still looking at the grave. "We didn't speak much, of course, but every time he visited he had some pearl of wisdom to share or a book recommendation for me. I always accepted them politely but never thought about looking into them. Later on, I remembered some of the titles when I was at university and even read a few. They were quite lovely."

Matthew smiled and looked at the headstone, his hand still holding hers.

"Papa loved giving out advice," he agreed.

"Does it ever get any easier?" Mary asked quietly.

"No," Matthew shook his head, his eyes unfocused as he looked at the flowers. "It didn't get any easier when the hit squad was dealt with, and it hasn't gotten any easier over the years. If anything, every happy moment that I've had over the past seven years has reminded me of how he's not here to share them with me."

"I'll give you some time with him," Mary said, looking up at Matthew. "I'll just wait over there."

"No, that's all right," Matthew smiled at her. "Let's go and get something to eat."

"Are you sure?" Mary frowned.

"Yes," he nodded, taking one last glance at his father's grave. "I'll talk to him later. He'd want us to go and have a pint to his memory, rather than stand around out here in the cold."

Mary smiled and linked her arm in his. They stood in front of the grave of Dr. Reginald Crawley for a few moments, each of them saying a silent prayer. Finally, Matthew turned away and escorted her down the snow-lined path.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Millbank, London, England, December 2014**

"Good night, all," Charles said, sweeping his arm through the air. "Happy Christmas."

The agents all replied politely and Charles made his way out of the office and down the hall, wrapping his scarf around his neck and buttoning up his coat. He smiled and nodded as he met one of the other agents working for him at the elevator.

"Mr. Blake," the agent nodded.

"Good evening," Charles nodded back.

"I understand you're off for the rest of the month?" the agent asked.

"Indeed I am," Charles replied. "I'm off to Ulster to spend the holidays with family. It's a tradition. We go to my cousin's estate every year and get right pissed for three days straight."

"Sounds like my kind of holiday," the agent laughed.

"It's a good bit of fun, yes," Charles smiled. "Though a bit embarrassing that my elderly Aunt Edna can still drink me under the table."

The elevator came and the two men rode down in silence. They bid each other goodbye and Charles took a leisurely walk along the Thames River on his way to Pimlico station.

His phone buzzed and he took it out of his pocket, blinking in surprise as he looked at the call display. Smiling, he lifted the phone to his ear, glancing around as he answered the call.

"Charles Blake," he said crisply.

"Charles," a friendly voice replied.

"Mabel," Charles smiled. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you," Mabel Lane Fox replied. "I hope I've caught you at a convenient time. You're not already in Ireland, are you?"

"I'm on my way to go and pack as we speak," Charles smiled. "And you? Are all your holiday plans coming along?"

"Yes, I think we're expecting an even larger turnout than last year," Mabel replied. "Charles, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Very well," Charles said.

"Actually, I was hoping that you could come by the house in the New Year when you're back. Tony…well, I'll let him explain it to you himself, but he could use your help."

"All right," Charles said slowly. "I hope this isn't as serious as you make it sound."

"It may be, I'm afraid," Mabel said. "But you mustn't let it bother you. Enjoy your trip and we'll speak in January. Happy Christmas, Charles."

"Happy Christmas, Mabel," Charles said. "Give Tony and the family my best."

"Thank you, and our best wishes to your family as well," Mabel said cheerfully.

Charles hung up the call and put his hands in his pockets, picking up the pace. He frowned slightly, wondering why on Earth his old comrade, Anthony Foyle, Viscount Gillingham, needed his help.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, December 2014**

"I'm going to tell them tomorrow at dinner," Mary announced, her eyes closed as she rested her head on her joined arms.

Matthew stopped and frowned, his hands frozen over her bare back.

"What did you say?" he asked.

Mary smiled, her eyes still closed as he resumed the massage, rubbing his fingers into her back.

"I'm going to tell the family tomorrow at dinner that we're together," she said. "It's convenient as everyone will be there, and we can deal with the fallout all at the same time."

"I doubt there will be any negative repercussions," Matthew chuckled, working the oil into her skin. "Robert will probably take me aside and have a serious chat with me, but that's about it."

"That's all you'll have to endure, yes," Mary sighed, groaning deeply as he worked on a knot at her shoulder. "I'll be subjected to a veritable inquisition."

"And what secrets will you reveal?" he smiled, bringing his hands lower, caressing the sides of her breasts and sliding along her ribs before he pressed his fingers into her waist.

"They'll want to know how we got together, what changed my mind after all this time, how serious we are, and the answers to numerous other ridiculous questions," Mary said, shifting her hips as he caressed her bottom.

"Well, that is the reason that you go through first," Matthew smiled, moving down to massage her calves. "To gossip."

"Of course," Mary nodded. "But don't worry, I won't spill any of our more intimate details."

"I'm grateful for that," Matthew nodded. "I wouldn't want you to ruin the timid image that I've worked so hard to develop over the years."

"Timid," Mary chuckled, sighing as his hands moved back up her bare thighs. "No, that's definitely not a word I would use to describe you anymore."

"Is that a compliment now that your eyes have been opened, or a veiled insult referring to your low impression of me from the past?" Matthew smiled, easing her legs apart slightly.

"A compliment," Mary said, arching her back as his fingers caressed her skin. "Definitely a compliment."

Matthew smiled devilishly as she moaned from his ministrations.

"And what word would you use to describe me now?" he asked lightly.

"Just between the two of us?" Mary asked, raising her hips at his urging.

"Just between you and I," Matthew whispered.

"Ravenous," Mary said, allowing a deep moan to escape her lips as he pushed inside of her.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2014**

Matthew always enjoyed Christmas at Downton. Yes, he had to endure Patrick's pranks and Mary's teasing and ambivalence over the years, but on the whole, the holiday season with the Crawley family was pleasant. The towering tree in the Great Hall, the delicious Christmas baking from the kitchens, carol singing in the Village and sleigh rides around the grounds. Being an only child, Matthew liked being part of a large gathering during the season.

As he took another careful spoonful of soup, he was more nervous now than anything. It was partly from trying to not openly stare at Mary across the table, and mostly from what she was going to say at some point in the evening.

He took a sip of wine and calmed himself. It had been nearly a month now. A month of absolute bliss. They still argued, of course, but their arguments now had a different tone and feel. To Matthew, their verbal battles were akin to foreplay, and Mary delighted in using this knowledge to make him rather uncomfortable at the office.

"Everyone, Matthew and I have an announcement to make," Mary said, raising her voice to draw everyone's attention.

Matthew blinked and turned to look at her, as did everyone else.

"We've begun seeing each other," she declared.

No one responded.

"Outside of the office," Mary added, frowning slightly at the lack of a reaction.

Matthew glanced out of the corner of his eye to see if Cora was grinning or if Robert was fuming. Neither of them said or did anything.

"We're dating," Mary said in exasperation. "Matthew and I are dating."

"Each other," Matthew chimed in, just as surprised by the silence as Mary was. "We're dating each other."

Cora and Robert slowly shared a look, then resumed eating, which signalled to everyone else that they could continue as well.

"That's nice, dear," Cora nodded politely.

Matthew looked at Mary helplessly.

"That's it? That's all?" Mary asked indignantly. "Surely you have something else to say?"

"What else is there?" Cora asked. "We're pleased for both of you, of course, but there's no need to make a spectacle of it."

"Make a spectacle?" Mary sputtered.

"You'll do right by her, won't you, Matthew?" Robert asked casually, sipping his wine.

"Y-yes, sir," Matthew stammered. "Of course."

"Good," Robert nodded. "Now, Mama, what was it you were telling me before about Dower House?"

"Oh, there was a problem with the cable for the television," Violet frowned. "I had Smithers call for someone to come and fix it, but they apparently won't be able to make it until sometime next week."

Mary shook her head and looked at Matthew in disbelief.

"That's a pity, Granny," Edith said. "You'll be without your favourite shows for a few days."

"Indeed," Violet nodded sadly. "And I do enjoy my Christmas films."

The meal continued as though Mary had never said anything. Mary glanced about the table, waiting for anyone to say something further about her declaration. The conversation moved from Violet's cable television issue to an invitation to dinner from one of the neighbours. Matthew became more and more amused by the minute, which only made Mary even more annoyed.

* * *

"All right, we want to hear everything!" Sybil laughed as she and Edith slid underneath the duvet. They both turned on to their sides, facing Mary, who rolled her eyes.

"So now you're both curious," Mary grumbled. "You were entirely disinterested earlier."

"Well we couldn't very well discuss everything in front of Mama and Papa, could we?" Edith shrugged.

"Not to mention Granny," Sybil added.

"I doubt Granny would be shocked by anything," Edith smiled.

Mary had to smile as well.

"Now, go on then," Sybil nodded to Mary. "Spare no detail."

Mary sighed. "We spent time together at the Black and White Ball, he asked me out, and I agreed."

"And?" Edith encouraged her.

"And what?" Mary frowned.

"You've been sleeping with Matthew every night for almost a month," Sybil said pointedly. "There's far more to tell."

"Sybil!" Mary scolded her.

"Is he good?" Edith asked.

Mary's mouth opened in shock.

"He must be," Sybil winked at Edith. "Mary's bed in London hasn't been touched for weeks."

Mary glared at Sybil.

"So?" Edith asked Mary.

"I'm not saying a word," Mary replied drily.

"Seeing as the last time you spent every night with a man for almost a month was...never...he must be very good," Edith nodded.

Mary blushed and looked away.

"Look at her!" Sybil cackled. "God, he must be huge!"

"Sybil!" Mary hissed.

"Come on, Sybil," Edith rolled her eyes. "Length isn't nearly as important as girth."

"Out! Both of you!" Mary growled, giving Edith a shove. "I won't engage in such immature rubbish!"

Sybil and Edith both got up out of bed, laughing as they headed for the door.

"Darling, just tell us, please," Sybil said innocently. "Are you happy? Truly?"

Mary blushed again as her lips parted in a smile. "Yes," she nodded. "Very happy."

"Told you," Edith smiled at Sybil. "Girth."

"Out!" Mary shouted.

Edith and Sybil left their sister's bedroom, laughing merrily.

* * *

Matthew looked up and smiled as his bedroom door opened and Mary appeared. Her blue silk robe was tied tightly around her as she came to bed, slipping beneath the covers and looking at him mischievously.

"Coming to a man's bedroom in the Bachelor's Wing," Matthew teased. "Aren't you afraid of the damage this will do to your reputation if word gets out, Lady Mary?"

"My reputation is already in tatters," Mary smiled. "Or were you not paying attention at dinner when I admitted that I was dating you?"

Matthew laughed and leaned over and kissed her softly.

"I've brought you something," Mary smirked, biting her tongue playfully as Matthew's eyes lit up.

"What?" he asked, swallowing as his mind filled with possibilities.

"Something I know that you'll enjoy very much," Mary said sultrily.

Matthew watched, captivated as she reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a stack of cards.

"Trivial Pursuit?" Matthew frowned, looking at the cards, then back up at her face in bewilderment.

"It is a Downton Christmas tradition," Mary said.

"I think the last time we played this game, we were teenagers, and besides, don't Edith and Sybil need to be here for us to play? To say nothing for the fact you don't have the board or any of the game pieces," Matthew noted.

"This is a special version of the game, designed for two people only," Mary said, smiling as confusion continued to cloud his face.

"I'm not following," Matthew shook his head.

"No board, no game pieces, just you and I asking each other questions," Mary explained.

"All right," Matthew nodded slowly. "And how will we keep score?"

"Well, whoever answers a question right can command the other to remove an item of clothing," Mary said, a slight blush coming to her cheeks.

"You want to play Strip Trivial Pursuit?" Matthew asked, his tongue practically dangling out of his mouth.

"I do," Mary nodded, arching her eyebrows at him.

"And when I answer a question right, you must remove an item of clothing?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, if you answer a question right," Mary said. "If."

"And you can't refuse, or come up with some excuse, or put it off until another day?" Matthew asked.

Mary laughed and shook her head at his meticulousness and desperation. "That's right. I won't refuse. I'll take something off if you are able to answer a question correctly."

"And you're not wearing eight or nine layers under there, are you?" he frowned.

"Do I look as though I am?" Mary frowned.

"No, not at all," Matthew backpedalled.

"Good answer," Mary said wryly.

"Before we begin, what incentive do I have to win this game?" Matthew asked.

"I should think it obvious," Mary smiled.

"Yes, of course," Matthew swallowed. "But, it seems that even if I lose, I still win."

"Ah, well, perhaps I should be more clear on that. You see, the winner will not only receive the pleasure of seeing the vanquished naked, but will also have certain privileges for the rest of the evening."

"Privileges, you say?" Matthew asked, staring at her playful eyes.

"Yes, privileges," she said mischievously. She leaned closer to whisper into his ear.

"Win the game, darling, and not only will I be naked for you, but I'll do anything and everything you want for the rest of the night. I'll obey your every command, Matthew," she drawled.

Matthew coughed suddenly, hitting his chest several times to calm himself.

"Or, if I win," Mary said in a lighter tone. "I may just choose to leave you here and go back to my own bed. Is that incentive enough?"

"What's the first question?" Matthew stammered.

Mary smiled and drew the first card from the deck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2014**

"Before we begin, what incentive do I have to win this game?" Matthew asked.

"I should think it obvious," Mary smiled.

"Yes, of course," Matthew swallowed. "But, it seems that even if I lose, I still win."

"Ah, well, perhaps I should be more clear on that. You see, the winner will not only receive the pleasure of seeing the vanquished naked, but will also have certain privileges for the rest of the evening."

"Privileges, you say?" Matthew asked, staring at her playful eyes.

"Yes, privileges," she said mischievously. She leaned closer to whisper into his ear.

"Win the game, darling, and not only will I be naked for you, but I'll do anything and everything you want for the rest of the night. I'll obey your every command, Matthew," she drawled.

Matthew coughed suddenly, hitting his chest several times to calm himself.

"Or, if I win," Mary said in a lighter tone. "I may just choose to leave you here and go back to my own bed. Is that incentive enough?"

"What's the first question?" Matthew stammered.

Mary smiled and drew the first card from the deck.

 **Chapter 8:**

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 34** **th** **Floor, St. Mary Axe, London, England, January 2015**

Richard looked out the window at the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf in the distance. When he moved into his offices at The Gherkin years ago, he knew there were other office buildings in London that were taller, but 30 St. Mary Axe was different. The office tower won awards for design and architecture, and it was iconic, becoming a symbol for London the way that a more generic building could never be. From this bold and modern colossus, he ran his empire, his very presence a triumph – the self-made man overseeing a secretly nefarious organization amidst the staid and proper insurance companies and banks situated on the floors around him.

He sipped his Scotch, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the cloudy sky. He had worked tirelessly over the years to build his domain, to put his hand into numerous ventures. The media companies were his public face; newspapers, televisions channels, websites, bringing the news to the masses, a noble profession as old as time. The casinos were less sophisticated, but far more profitable. Clean and polished gambling dens, taking people's money in a swift whirl of the slot reels and throws of the dice. Gambling was an ancient pastime, luring people in with the weak promise of a quick fortune, tolerated to this day by the government because of the immense taxes and fees generated. Richard employed an army of lawyers and accountants to make sure that his businesses always appeared to be law abiding and proper. He complied with all applicable regulations, paid his taxes and donated to charities. He had learned his lessons well from his ancestors – show the people a pretty picture, and they'll ignore the ugliness beneath.

Everything was going smoothly. His takings from the drug dealers and prostitution rings and protection money paid by small businesses in his territories were all funnelled through the casinos, mixed in with the hard earned pounds of his customers, and laundered until they emerged squeaky clean. Nothing traced back to him, a web of numbered companies, straw men and ghosts shielding him from any link to illegal activities. The moment any pimp or dealer or hitman was arrested, another rose up a few weeks later to take his place. No one ever snitched on him to the authorities, because no one knew he was the man at the top of the chain.

The money poured in and he was invincible. He could have anything he wanted, and though he was intensely private, he did enjoy his indulgences. Expensive cars. Fine liquor. Women who submit to his more deviant pursuits. He was the virtual ruler of the London underworld, untouchable and all powerful. Until Matthew Crawley arrived.

Richard sipped his Scotch, a scowl taking over his face. Richard's relationship with Lord Grantham and Crawley Group was always one of ambivalence. They stayed away from each other for the most part. Robert Crawley was too smooth to dabble in the dark shadows that Richard did. The Earl of Grantham was a model of manners and elegance, content with his casinos, his construction company and his investments. He was barely a criminal, that one, keeping one foot firmly planted in Society while he dabbed his toe in the underworld from time to time. His greatest crime was withholding taxes, though the family had been carrying on that way for so long the amount they owed by now was staggering, to be sure. Still, Richard paid the man his respects when they saw each other, was polite and cordial to his family, particularly his eldest daughter, Lady Mary and his sister, Lady Rosamund, and left it at that. Their casinos catered to different clientele, and Crawley Group's operations were mainly focused in London, while Richard's reached across England and to the world beyond.

Richard allowed Crawley Group to control their portion of the market, consisting mainly of the high rollers and big spenders and men with new money who wanted to show off. Richard drew in the commoners, the lower classes, the punters, of which there were many millions more. It was an amenable relationship, until Matthew Crawley arrived.

"Do you have any comments on the quarterly numbers, Sir Richard?" a tiny voice called.

Richard turned around and placed his empty glass on the desk, sneering as he looked at the financial reports spread out on the glass table top.

"They are disappointing, to say the least," Richard replied, not looking at the lackey sitting on the other side of the desk from him.

"While revenues are down, Sir Richard, you are still showing a nominal profit," the man said cheerfully.

Richard shot him a warning glare. The man swallowed nervously and looked down at his tablet.

"We were in line for record takings through the third quarter," Richard mused, turning around and going back to the window, stroking his chin with his fingers. "What changed?"

"Oh, these things are difficult to say with any accuracy, Sir Richard," the man laughed shakily. "So many variables, you see."

"My investors will expect an explanation," Richard said coldly. "What shall I tell them? That there are too many variables to account for?"

"No," the man answered meekly.

"I have it on sound authority that the revenues of Crawley Group were surprisingly robust in the final quarter of last year," Richard said drily. "Strange that they would have a spike in their numbers at the same time that ours are lagging, isn't it?"

"Very strange, indeed, Sir Richard," came the answer.

"And yet compared to last year, there was very little industry-wide growth," Richard said. "So, while more people are gambling with Crawley Group, and less are gambling with us, that doesn't explain the difference entirely, does it?"

"No, Sir Richard. No, it doesn't," the man said.

"It's those websites," Richard said thickly. "Our principal market – the middle class – they're choosing more and more to do their gambling online. That's what's cutting into our numbers. People are choosing to stay home and gamble from their own living rooms."

"But, Sir Richard," the man interjected. "William Hill and bet365 are not reporting a significant increase in revenues over the same time frame."

"Those websites are regulated by the government," Richard answered, still looking out the window. "I'm not referring to them. I'm referring to offshore websites, the unregulated, uncontrolled, overseas operations. Those websites are taking away our customers, and at an alarming rate, if these numbers are accurate."

"But why would anyone gamble with a mysterious illegal website when there are legitimate options here at home?" the man asked.

"Simple," Richard said, his anger rising. "The promise of greater returns. Better odds. Bigger payouts. All payments made by convenient credit card or email money transfers, and all from the comfort of one's own home."

The man swallowed again.

"Leave," Richard ordered.

The man scurried out of the office as fast as his feet could carry him. He had heard the tales of the last unfortunate soul who had to bring bad financial reports to Sir Richard.

Since Matthew Crawley's arrival just a few short months ago, Crawley Group's market share had boomed. The casinos formerly being run by Patrick Crawley were transformed from money haemorrhaging pits to profitable operations. More and more of the middle class were finding their way into Crockfords, and The Colony Club, and The Palm Beach and Maxims, treating themselves to the pampering and fantasy that the staff spun under Lady Mary's direction.

But that wasn't the real threat. These websites were the true danger. Richard didn't understand it completely, and his lawyers could not even begin to navigate the phalanx of websites and nameless companies to figure out the organizational structure behind everything. All Richard knew was that he was losing a lot of money, and that Matthew Crawley was responsible for it.

Richard clenched his teeth together as rage bubbled inside his chest. Months on from their first meeting and Matthew Crawley was proving to be every bit the problem Richard thought he would be, and Richard's patience was wearing thin.

 **Harrods Department Store, Knightsbridge, London, England, January 2015**

"This would look rather dashing on Matthew, don't you think?" Cora asked, looking over a light blue tie. "It matches his eyes."

Mary frowned as she glanced at the length of silk. "He prefers Armani," she shrugged. "And I believe he already has a tie in that particular colour."

"I'm glad to hear that you've taken note of such things," Cora nodded, placing the tie back on top of the display case and moving away.

"I thought that you were looking for something for Papa," Mary said, following her mother as she continued through the Men's section.

"What gave you that idea?" Cora smiled, stopping at a rack of Armani dress shirts and looking them over.

"Because you don't have any other men to shop for, unless you forgot to send something to Uncle Harold for Christmas," Mary said, looking at her mother suspiciously.

"I didn't have any other men to shop for previously," Cora agreed. "Now though, I have your boyfriend to consider."

"My boyfriend," Mary repeated.

"Yes, Matthew," Cora smiled. "Is this his size, do you think?" she asked, holding up a white twill dress shirt.

"I am well aware of his name, thank you," Mary said wryly. "Matthew has his shirts tailored. Why would you want to buy him anything, besides?"

"Just as a kind gesture," Cora said lightly, continuing on to look at the row of suits. "A bit of a thank you, for all he's done."

"Are you intending to make him employee of the month or are you referring to how he's agreed to take on your eldest daughter?" Mary replied.

"Don't be sarcastic; it's rude," Cora retorted. "I told you that you would end up needing Matthew, and I'm pleased to see that you've taken my words to heart."

"I barely remember you saying that," Mary rolled her eyes. "And that had nothing to do with my decision to date Matthew."

"Be that as it may, let's not pretend this isn't the answer to all our prayers, your Papa's and mine," Cora nodded.

"Yes, yes, everyone should be so delighted that I've finally given in and snared Saint Matthew in my web," Mary shook her head.

"That's not quite what I meant," Cora said pointedly.

"Then what do you mean, Mama?" Mary sighed. "When I announced our news at dinner last month, you and Papa barely reacted, and now you're out shopping for presents for Matthew? It's quite strange."

"We weren't going to discuss…delicate personal matters…at the table, but rest assured, your Papa and I are entirely supportive of the both of you together," Cora said.

"Of course you are, you love Matthew," Mary grumbled.

"How we feel about Matthew doesn't matter," Cora said quietly.

Mary frowned at her.

"Well, it's not the only thing that matters," Cora recovered. "And besides, the fact that we like him is not the main reason why this is such a good match."

"What are you talking about?" Mary asked.

"You know how Papa is," Cora smiled, shaking her head. "He's always thinking about the future – the future of the family, the future of the company, all of it."

"And what does that have to do with Matthew? He isn't part of the family, as much as you may want him to be," Mary frowned.

"Matthew is the future, my darling," Cora said quietly. "Papa says his websites are a license to print money, and virtually untraceable back to him, or to us. With Matthew's capital, your future and that of your sisters is assured, no matter what happens to the rest of the company."

"That's why you and Papa are so keen on Matthew and I being together? For his money?" Mary asked in shock.

"We have reason to believe that his fortune is quite substantial," Cora nodded. "He pays part of his profits to the company, of course, but he gets to keep the rest. He's been saving his share for years, and if he could be convinced to use it for the good of the family one day, so much the better."

"Why do we need Matthew's money?" Mary asked. "The casinos have never been more profitable, and Edith's business isn't doing that poorly."

"Things can change quickly, Mary," Cora said, looking down at the floor. "Maintaining Downton becomes more expensive every year, to say nothing for your grandmother's home and our other holdings. Despite what he says, your Papa doesn't have the same ambitions that he used to. Matthew may be just what the family needs."

"You mean his money may be just what we need," Mary rolled her eyes.

"No, I mean that he knows us, he's already a part of our world and has been since childhood. He knows why the family matters, why it mustn't be allowed to fall apart," Cora nodded.

"That's rather melodramatic, don't you think?" Mary retorted. "In any event, why hasn't Papa brought this up with him?"

"Your Papa never likes to admit that he needs anyone's help, particularly when he's been the captain of our ship for so long," Cora shook her head. "The arrangement with Matthew was always for fixing Patrick's mistakes and improving the performance of his division. It was never discussed that Matthew would stay on permanently. Now, however, he has a very good reason to remain."

"Matthew and I have only been dating for less than two months," Mary reminded her. "What makes you think that he'll want to stay around for good?"

"I'm sure you of all people can keep a young man's interest without any help from me," Cora said haughtily. "Can't you understand how perfect this is, Mary? If Matthew pledges himself to you, and his money to the company, then all will be settled, and even better than we could have hoped for."

"So that's it? I'm to be Matthew's wife and get out the way while he takes over the company?" Mary asked.

"You know that he would give you a position if you asked for it. He adores you," Cora said. "And does it matter who is the President of the company if you are able to hold the power?"

"I always saw myself as being in Papa's chair, not standing behind it," Mary said bitterly.

"I know your character, Mary, but you should at least try to not be so stubborn," Cora complained. "You may end up wishing that you weren't."

Mary sighed and followed her mother to another section of the store.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, January 2015**

"You work too hard," Anna whispered, kissing his shoulder as she pressed herself against his bare back.

Alex smiled and turned his head, kissing her softly on the lips and running his hand through her hair. He turned back to his tablet and she remained sitting behind him, her head on his shoulder, her arms circled around his waist.

"That's quite funny. No one works harder than you," he said, scrolling through a series of photographs.

"All right, then you don't work efficiently enough," Anna smiled, rubbing his stomach. "Surely whatever you're up to can wait until tomorrow?"

"Just a few more minutes," Alex replied, his eyes still on his tablet.

"I must be doing something wrong," Anna said lightly. "Either that or you're used to having a naked woman hovering over you while you work."

"Does picturing you naked while we're in the office count?" Alex asked. "Because I've done that…quite a lot."

"How classy of you," Anna rolled her eyes, pinching his side. "And here I thought you were turned on by my intelligence. I'm just a piece of ass to you, am I?"

"Hardly," Alex smiled, turning and kissing her again. "Though I won't deny that I am rather obsessed with your ass, in addition to the rest of you."

Anna scoffed and kissed his cheek.

"Who is this?" Alex asked, showing her the photograph on his tablet.

"That's Lord Gillingham," Anna replied. "His family and the Crawleys go back generations."

"No, not Lord Gillingham," Alex said. "The man sitting beside him."

"I have no clue," Anna frowned, looking at the photo of a man with brown hair and brown eyes. "Where was this taken from?"

"The Colony Club, a week ago," Alex replied. "Lord Gillingham and this gentleman have come in every week this month, sometimes a couple of nights a week."

"Well that's not unusual," Anna said. "Lord Gillingham plays regularly at all of our casinos."

"Yes, I know," Alex nodded, staring at the photograph. "This other fellow is new though. He just comes in with Lord Gillingham, plays a few hands, drinks and leaves."

"What's so special about him?" Anna asked.

"I'm not sure," Alex said, turning off the tablet and placing it on the nightstand. "Maybe nothing."

"Can't you just take his photograph and run it through a facial recognition program?" Anna shrugged.

Alex turned his head and smiled at her. "I'm not in MI:6, and this isn't the movies. This is real life, you know. We don't have a database to compare it to."

"My mistake," Anna smirked. "You just look so dashing in a suit." She leaned in and kissed him.

"Now, if you truly want to know, just have Lord Gillingham's host introduce herself to him the next time he's in," Anna said. "See if he'll sign up to join the players' club, and he'll have to show his ID."

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Alex smiled, turning around fully and taking her into his arms.

"Because you're just a pretty face," Anna winked, moving over and straddling his legs.

"Is that so?" Alex laughed, leaning in and kissing her neck. His hands trailed down and cupped her bottom.

"Of course," Anna smiled, closing her eyes as his lips moved down to her breasts. "Didn't you know? I'm only with you for your body."

"Ah," Alex growled against her skin. "Well, I had better do my best to earn my keep, then."

Anna yelped and laughed as he lifted her legs and shifted her on to her back. His mouth found hers and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he pulled the duvet over them.

"Well, then," Anna drawled, licking his cheek as he spread her legs around his waist. "Show me what you've got."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, January 2015**

"What do you think?" Mary asked, staring at the design plans spread out on the boardroom table.

"I'm sorry to say that I'm rather useless at the moment," Matthew said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have no clue at all what you're looking at."

Edith smiled.

Mary rolled her eyes. "I don't like the placement of this wall," she said, pointing to the drawing. "I want this space to be entirely open. There needs to be a wow factor when the guests arrive through this entrance."

"There may be drafts from having so large of an atrium," Edith said. "You have to assume that the doors will be open constantly with guests coming in and out. In the winter months, that may be uncomfortable."

"Possibly," Mary said, narrowing her eyes. "But we'll have to risk it. The entire reception area must be visible from the outside, and this wall won't make it as enticing at it could be. Try and use a thicker glass for the doors or more insulation around the entrance. Between that and the heaters, hopefully that will compensate for any drafts."

"All right," Edith said, taking the plans and rolling them up. "I'll send over the revised plans when I get them back from the architect."

"Thank you, Edith," Matthew nodded. He nudged Mary after several moments.

"Yes, thank you," Mary said, going over and kissing her sister on both cheeks. Edith waved goodbye to Matthew and went down the hall to the elevator.

"You could be nicer to her, you know," Matthew smiled. "The two of you could make more of an effort to get along."

"Please," Mary huffed. "Not sharing enthusiastic goodbyes is the least of our sins against each other, believe me."

"You should have asked her to lunch," Matthew said as they left the boardroom and walked towards Mary's office. "We're going to be working with Edith on the expansion for the next year, if not longer. You'll need to get used to having her around."

"I live with her, Matthew," Mary frowned. "I don't need to spend time with her at the office on top of that."

"Well, you haven't been spending much time with her lately, have you?" Matthew teased.

Mary smiled at him playfully. "No, I seem to be away from home rather often as of late."

Matthew grinned. "Right, well, where to for lunch?"

"Oh, you go ahead," Mary nodded. "I have a call in about fifteen minutes."

"Ah," Matthew replied. "Well, I can wait for you."

"No, no, go on," Mary waved her hand at him as she took a seat behind her desk. "It's a fairly large conference call and who knows how long it will take. I'll just tell Anna to have something sent up later."

"All right," Matthew shrugged. He turned and left her office.

Mary sighed as she watched him go. She frowned and looked down at her desk, then shook her head and resumed her placid expression before she opened up her email on her computer monitor.

 **Gender Institute, London School of Economics, London, England, January 2015**

Sybil closed up her notebook computer and slipped it into her bag. She rose from her chair and headed out of the classroom, moving down the hall and downstairs towards the front door. Finished classes for the day, she left the building, zipping up her coat. It wasn't too cold, so she decided to walk the short mile back to Grantham House. Slipping on her headphones, she picked out a song on her mobile phone, then began the trek home.

A silver BMW with dark tinted windows was parked at the kerb across the street from the school. As Sybil wandered down the pavement, the man sitting in the passenger side pointed his camera zoom lens at her and snapped several photos.

"Two o'clock. Right on time," another man said, scribbling on his notepad. "That'll do. We've got her schedule confirmed now for the week."

The driver of the car remained silent. When Sybil disappeared from view, he turned on the engine and pulled the car away from the kerb, driving off in the opposite direction.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, January 2015**

Matthew frowned, standing in front of the television and scrolling through the onscreen channel guide. He began to realize why he didn't usually come home in the early afternoon. The offerings were limited to talk shows, soap operas and rather depressing all-day news channels. He sighed and decided on a home renovation show and walked over to his bike.

Crouching down next to the rear wheel, he adjusted the clamps on the stationary trainer and ensured the bike was locked in place. Satisfied, he turned and placed his foot in the pedal and swung his leg over as he got comfortable in the seat. He was just about to switch his phone to his preferred music playlist for training when the screen lit up with an incoming call. He adjusted his headphones and frowned as he answered the call.

"Mother? Why are you calling so late?" he asked.

"And hello to you, as well, Matthew," Isobel replied brightly.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Matthew rolled his eyes. "But honestly, what time is it there?"

"It's just past ten in the evening," Isobel answered. "I've just gotten back from a delightful dinner at that hotel on the water. You know the one, don't you?"

"The Marina Bay Sands? Yes, I know it," Matthew said, getting off the bike. "Where did you eat? At Waku Ghin?"

"Yes! That's the place!" Isobel said. "Delightful. Everything was so fresh and lovely."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I was afraid you were going to feed yourself on street food the entire time you were there," Matthew smiled.

"Nonsense," Isobel scoffed. "Now, how is everyone?"

"Very well. The family sends their best wishes," Matthew said.

"How nice," Isobel said. "And how is Mary?"

"She's fine," Matthew said guardedly. "She's running her division, and I'm running mine."

"Matthew," Isobel said pointedly.

Matthew sighed. "Who told you?"

"Violet did," Isobel said curtly. "Were you going to wait until I returned to England before informing me of your new relationship?"

"I…" Matthew grumbled. "I hadn't thought much about it, to be honest."

"Apparently," Isobel said.

"Mother, before you say it, Mary makes me very happy," Matthew said.

"I'm not surprised that you feel that way, dear, but it's early days still for the two of you," Isobel said.

"Mother," Matthew groaned.

"Matthew, I know how long you've wanted this, and I am pleased for you, truly, but you need to be careful. You don't think straight where Mary is concerned," Isobel said calmly.

"I know what I'm doing, Mother," Matthew frowned.

"I just want you to be realistic about who Mary is, is all," Isobel said. "And to be aware of the realities that you face by pursuing a relationship with her."

"I'm well aware," Matthew said. "I know what I'm doing, Mother."

"Fine," Isobel said. "But I'm still allowed to worry, you know."

"Yes, I suppose you are," Matthew smiled. "I'm just about to get on the bike, Mother. I'll speak to you tomorrow. Get some sleep. It's past your bedtime."

"That it is," Isobel laughed. "Good night, dear."

Matthew ended the call and got back on his bike. He scrolled through to his playlist as he began pedalling. Choosing the first song, he switched to his fitness app and placed the phone in its mount on the bike. As the first beats of the music rang in his ears, he leaned over the bike and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the song, rather than the echo of his mother's warning.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, January 2015**

"We're no closer to finding out who hired Green to send the tainted drugs to Mr. Patrick," Anna complained as she stabbed a tomato with her fork. "What about motive?"

"Patrick wasn't up to anything out of the ordinary in the days leading up to his death," Alex replied, taking a bite of the cucumber salad. "Something must have stressed him out for him to call Green so many times that night. He didn't really have a pattern, but he tended to place orders on the weekends, not during the week."

"Which means he got riled up over something and needed to take the edge of," Anna theorized.

"He was due to see Miss Parks a few days later for their regular appointment, so he just needed a quick fix to see him through," Alex added.

"So what was it that got to him?" Anna asked. "What was the big crisis?"

Alex shrugged as he reached over and refilled her wine glass.

"Who had the most to gain from Mr. Patrick's death?" Anna asked.

"Or who wanted him dead?" Alex countered.

"Plenty of people disliked him, me included," Anna grumbled. "But to want him dead? That's far beyond merely disliking him."

"A scorned lover, perhaps?" Alex suggested.

"He wasn't in a committed relationship, from what I knew," Anna shook her head. "The only woman he saw consistently was that prostitute."

"What about a cuckolded husband or boyfriend?" Alex asked, getting up from the table and taking their used salad bowls into the kitchen.

"None that we know of. It wasn't Lord Gillingham," Anna called out. "He disliked Patrick, but he would never lift a finger against the Crawleys."

"All right, so leave out lovers and rivals," Alex said, coming back into the dining room and placing the plate of chicken and vegetables in front of Anna. "Who else?"

"A business associate, perhaps," Anna said. "Though I can't imagine why."

"Did anyone within the company want Patrick out of the way?" Alex asked.

"We all wished he could work harder, or even just show up for work more often," Anna shook her head. "But no one wanted him dead. On top of that, there were no guarantees as to who would take over Patrick's division without him around. It isn't as though Mary was the automatic choice, as you're well aware. So killing him wasn't the way to get an advantage."

"Well, Matthew didn't kill him, if that's what you're wondering," Alex smiled.

"I wasn't," Anna smiled back. "But thank you for making that clear."

"What did Green say about Patrick again?" Alex asked.

"He admitted that someone ordered him to deal with Mr. Patrick, and he also said that person was far scarier than I was," Anna recalled.

"Scarier than you? Impossible," Alex teased.

"I know," Anna nodded. "The man must have been high when he said it."

"Whoever hired Green intimidated him. So, who does a drug dealer consider scary?" Alex wondered aloud.

"A police officer?" Anna said.

"Can't be," Alex shook his head. "Why would a police officer want Patrick dead?"

"Someone higher up the ranks, then," Anna said. "Someone above Green."

"Green was an independent from all that I've seen," Alex said. "He didn't answer to anyone and wasn't affiliated with any particular group since he left Lord Gillingham years ago."

"What about his suppliers?" Anna asked.

"The Latin Americans and Russians? Threatening Green with being cut off would be a strong incentive, but why would they go after Patrick?" Alex said.

"I couldn't tell you," Anna shrugged, slicing into her chicken. "But who else would Green be scared of?"

"Someone who could threaten him and back it up," Alex said, looking into his wine glass thoughtfully. "Someone who could either ruin his business, or kill him, or both."

Anna frowned as she ate her food. "What if Green wasn't hired by the actual killer? What if Green was just contracted by a middle man? A go-between?"

"An underling of an underling," Alex nodded. "That would protect the killer, and also make our investigation more complicated."

"Perhaps," Anna agreed. "They kill Green to throw us off the scent, and still remain protected by another layer."

"Though if you wanted Patrick dead, and didn't want it getting back to you, who would you trust to carry out the task? Green had to have specific instructions. They couldn't risk Green fucking up and sending Patrick a normal order of drugs. So, who would you want to have dealing with Green so that there would be no mistakes?" Alex asked.

Anna sipped her wine. She put her glass back down and frowned at her plate as she contemplated the question. Her eyes found Alex once again when a thought came to her.

"A hitman," Anna said slowly.

"A hitman," Alex nodded.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, January 2015**

Mary separated the disposable chopsticks and placed them on the plates. One of the disadvantages of Matthew not having a proper kitchen was that he also did not have proper dishes or cutlery. Though she didn't mind eating her expensive take away sushi with flimsy wooden chopsticks and plastic spoons, it was a rather strange contrast. Matthew's suite was furnished with pieces from all over the world, the dining table made from a polished cherry wood, and yet here they were eating with plates and cutlery that cost pennies.

Matthew dipped a cucumber roll in soy sauce and popped it in his mouth. He swallowed a sip of Coke, then reached for his bowl of miso soup.

"A rather interesting package was delivered for me today," he said, stirring the soup with his chopsticks. "From Cora."

Mary blinked and looked up at him. "From Mama? Really? What was it?"

"A rather nice set of cufflinks, actually," Matthew said easily. "I don't know if it's in respect of any particular occasion, but they are quite nice. I think they may be vintage, actually."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Goodness, you're even more of a favourite than I realized," she joked.

"I can't imagine why," Matthew shrugged. "But I sent her my thanks just the same."

"Consider it a bribe," Mary smiled, picking up a spicy tuna roll with her chopsticks. "They're pleased that you're keeping me in line."

"Is that what I'm doing?" Matthew smiled at her. "I should hate to see what your rebellious side is like, then."

"Careful, you might get a glimpse sooner than you think," Mary smirked.

Matthew laughed as they continued their meal.

 **Crawley Construction, London, England, January 2015**

"Lady Edith," the assistant called. "The supplier says the marble samples you wanted have arrived. Shall I have them sent over?"

Edith looked up from her computer screen. "No, that's all right. I could use a break. I'll go over and take a look. Please tell them to expect me in about half an hour."

"Yes, Lady Edith," the assistant nodded, turning around and going back to her desk.

Edith put on her long winter coat, hat and gloves and grabbed her phone and purse. She left the office and walked the short distance to the Range Rover parked outside. The sky was cloudy overhead but most of the snow had melted over the weekend. Edith put her purse on the passenger seat and placed her phone on its cradle on the console, starting the engine and giving the SUV time to warm up a bit. The marble supplier was a bit outside the city, but she didn't mind. The truth was that work was rather slow over the winter months, and had been slow for a while now. She was hoping things would pick up over the Spring, if only to give her something to do. Edith never cared much for the financial performance of the division. The construction arm of Crawley Group was never overly profitable even in the best of times. No matter what she did, her division would never measure up to the casinos, so she didn't even bother trying to compete. Still, with Mary's expansion of Crockfords being one of their major projects, Edith was more hands-on this time around. She normally wouldn't personally look into the marble they would use, but seeing as she knew how particular her sister could be, Edith decided to deal with this herself. God knew she would be the one to get it if the imported stone turned out to be wrong in Mary's eyes.

Edith turned out of the parking lot of Crawley Construction and began the slow crawl out of the city. She turned on an all-news radio station and listened idly as she followed traffic towards the motorway. She was too focused on the cars ahead of her to notice a silver BMW in the lane next to her, sitting back a few cars behind.

"Black Range Rover on the left," the man sitting in the passenger seat said, aiming his camera lens at the SUV and taking several photographs of the license plate. Getting a clear shot of Edith Crawley had been difficult through the tinted windows. He managed to grab a few as she sat waiting to pull out of her company parking lot. That was enough. He had plenty of photos already from their previous surveillance.

The man sitting in the backseat scribbled down the license plate number in his notepad.

"That's good. No need to follow her. We've got enough on her to know what her routine is," he declared.

The driver remained silent, checking his mirrors before turning off at the next street and leaving the Range Rover to continue on its way.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, January 2015**

"Oh God, Mary," Matthew groaned, swallowing as he lifted his head off the pillow and watched her.

Mary massaged his thighs as she took him deeper into her mouth. She had never imagined that his body would be this fit, and it thrilled her each time they were together, as though she was privy to some secret when he was completely unveiled to her. His thighs were thick and firm, the obvious result of his cycling hobby, or cycling obsession as she liked to call it. The smooth skin was taut across his muscles, the strength and power beneath almost tangible under her fingers. She ran her tongue over him, inhaling his scent as she raised and lowered her head once again, the moans and whispers tumbling from his lips sending a shiver of desire down her spine.

"So good," Matthew babbled, entranced at the sight of her and what she was doing to him. He reached a shaky hand towards her, caressing her soft hair, tucking a few loose strands behind her ear. He stroked the nape of her neck, his fingers moving over the creamy skin of her shoulder, the arch of her back, and coming to rest on the curve of her bottom. Her skin was so warm to his touch, and it was this contact that kept him in the moment, convinced him that this was truly happening. They had made love dozens of times in the past two months, and yet every time he could barely believe it was real. The sight of her was better than any of his fantasies, but the feel of her body close to his was the only piece of reality preventing his mind from falling to pieces.

Mary hummed sultrily as she kept going, adding her hand to the task. The touch of his hand on her drove her to increase her pace, the thought of him nearing the point of total abandon spurring her on. She felt oddly liberated in pleasing him like this, knowing she was giving him something he craved for years, submitting to him, and yet having complete control of him at the same time. Their past wasn't important at times like this. Their future didn't matter. Her family. The company. Her parents' plans for them. Her own fears. None of that had any place here. They could just be together, the two of them, separated from the rest of the world, nothing to concern themselves with except delightful pleasure.

Mary dared to look up at him, knowing his eyes would be open, watching her, entirely enthralled by the vision of her going down on him. Blue-eyed Matthew. When they were younger, she never understood the fascination. Matthew had blue eyes. So what? She had seen them differently now, though, seen them bright when he was playful and teasing, seen them focused when he was leering and lustful, and seen them as they were now, wide, cloudy, gazing over her covetously, looking away from what her mouth was doing to stare longingly at her naked body.

Mary's eyes fluttered shut as she felt his hand sweeping across her ass. With the slightest nudge he gently pulled her thighs apart, and a warning flared in her mind just before he slipped a finger inside of her. She moaned around him, almost lifting her head off of him completely as he thrust in deep. His hand was steady, sliding in easily, moving faster when he found out how ready she was for him.

"Mary, darling," he grunted, moving his hips as she tightened her hold. After that first time on the private jet to Abu Dhabi, he was never content to just watch, to just receive, not at all comfortable with her serving him in any way. He had to be with her, know that he was giving her just as much as she was him. And he loved hearing her grow louder as they both got close.

He added a second finger and Mary had to release him from her mouth, continuing to stroke him with her hand as she shut her eyes and cried out. He slowed his fingers as she climaxed, soothing and rubbing her as he watched the shocks move through her. Her mussed hair, her flushed skin, her breasts moving with her gasping breath. When she opened her eyes and he saw her dilated pupils stare back at him, he pushed against her hand, his own peak seconds away.

Mary's pulse was still racing when she felt him swell in her hand. Keeping her eyes on his, she smiled wickedly and raised herself up on her elbow, arching her eyebrow as she stroked him faster.

Matthew realized her intent in the half second before her voice pushed him over the edge. Her fingers added just enough extra pressure, and his eyes bulged as she aimed him at her breasts before he yelled out in sweet release.

* * *

Mary carefully slid out of bed and retrieved her silk robe, throwing it on and tying the sash as she walked quietly from the bedroom. She looked back at Matthew's sleeping form, the duvet bunched across his legs, his bare chest rising and falling with the pleasant slumber of the deeply sated. She smiled wanly, the memory of their torrid lovemaking clear in both her mind and her sore legs.

She walked silently through the darkened living room, going over to the fridge and taking a bottle of water. She sipped it idly, wandering over to the large windows. It had been months since she'd slept in her own bed. Each night, it just seemed natural to come back here to his hotel rather than retire to Grantham House. More and more of her clothes now hung in his closets, and she'd basically taken over most of the large ensuite bathroom. She felt comfortable here, with him, despite this suite being but a temporary abode, a luxurious rental for his time in London.

She took another sip of water and looked out at the dark skies over the city, sunrise still hours away. Matthew had a way of making time stand still, she thought. It was like this the very first night they slept together, and in Abu Dhabi, and even back at Downton over Christmas. When she was with him, the world seemed to slow, and fade, and seem less important, less pressing. She was waiting for the sheen of a new relationship to dull and for the giddiness to wear off. It always did. Sometimes in the past, the high of a new man in her life was gone within days, replaced with the inevitable indifference that always seemed to set in. Now she was two months into being with Matthew and even she had to admit it still felt thrilling. It wasn't just the sex, either. It was how they got along at work, the jokes and jibes, even the many arguments they still had became fun, a back-and-forth debate that was eventually lightened by a well timed joke or insult by one of them.

Mary sighed and finished her water. She turned away from the windows and put the empty bottle down on her way back to the bedroom. She put her robe back on the chair and came back to bed. Sleeping in just her panties was a new experience as well, but like everything else in this relationship, it now seemed comfortable to her. She snuggled against Matthew's chest, smiling as he woke up just enough to put his arm around her. She let the warmth of his body and the duvet wash over her and closed her eyes. Tomorrow could wait. Tonight they were together.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, January 2015**

Anna knocked on the the open door of Mary's office. Mary and Matthew stopped their conversation and looked up at her.

"Yes, Anna?" Mary asked.

"The marble samples just came over from Crawley Construction," Anna nodded. "They're set up in the boardroom."

"Excellent," Mary smiled. She rose from her desk and walked briskly around and out of the office. Matthew followed, nodding to Anna as he passed her and went to the boardroom after Mary.

"I don't see what's so special about one type of marble from another," Matthew shrugged as they went in. "Or how one is so much more expensive than another."

"That's because you don't pay attention to these things, but believe me, the high rollers pay attention to these types of things, to say nothing for the reviewers and bloggers who will be dying for anything to criticize about the new expansion," Mary smiled. "We only get one chance to impress everyone, so it all must be perfect down to the smallest detail."

"Which means using the most costly materials, apparently," Matthew sighed.

"Not necessarily," Mary said, arching her eyebrow. "We don't want to appear overtly ostentatious. It still needs to maintain the same elegance found throughout the rest of the casino. The expansion has to blend in with the rest of the building."

"If you say so," Matthew nodded.

Anna smiled, standing behind them.

"Well, what do you think?" Matthew asked, sweeping his arm across the different tile samples spread out across the boardroom table.

Mary looked over the different pieces, frowning more and more as she went.

"This isn't right at all," she complained. "This one isn't even marble. It's quartz. And this is granite. Why would Edith send these over? I told her exactly what I wanted."

"Maybe she sent these so you could compare against other options?" Matthew suggested.

"The comparison was supposed to be between different types of marble, not different types of materials entirely," Mary scoffed. "Anna, call Edith and..."

Mary looked over at her assistant, then stopped. She arched her eyebrow and looked back at the materials samples again before crossing her arms and turning to Matthew.

"All right, what did you do with my samples?" she demanded.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked in confusion.

"Edith knows better than to make such decisions on her own. She would never send over anything that I didn't specifically request. That means someone either put her up to doing this, or intercepted the real samples and replaced them with these to try and be cheeky. And since Anna would never dare play such a lame joke, that leaves you, Mr. Crawley," Mary said, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Why do you automatically assume that it was me?" Matthew asked.

"No one else is foolish enough to try me," Mary replied.

"I need to go and speak to Alex about something," Anna said quickly, barely containing her smile as she turned and left the boardroom, closing the glass door behind her.

"You little shit," Mary snarled, advancing on him.

"Now, now, darling, we're at the office," Matthew smiled, backing away from her.

"Stand your ground like a man and get what's coming to you!" Mary ordered, stalking him around the table.

Matthew pulled out his mobile and began filming her coming after him. "You know, I was hoping to get a video of you throwing the samples around the room, but this will have to do."

"Matthew Crawley, if you don't produce the proper marble in the next ten seconds, you're going to be sleeping alone for the next month!" Mary shouted, following him around the table as he kept backing away.

"Threatening me by withholding sex is so predictable, and cruel," Matthew laughed, managing to keep the distance between them. "I think I may show this video at the next company event, what do you think?"

"I think you may spend the next company event in a wheelchair after I'm done with you," Mary said.

Matthew laughed, then stopped as a timid knock and the opening of the door interrupted them.

"Lady Mary?" William asked quietly, holding an armful of marble samples. "Lady Edith just sent these over for you to look at?"

Mary glared at Matthew before composing herself and turning to William.

"Very good. Thank you, William. You can put them on the table, and take these and leave them in Mr. Crawley's office," Mary said authoritatively.

"Yes, my Lady," William nodded, replacing the samples on the table and leaving the boardroom.

"Now what am I going to do with all those inferior samples?" Matthew asked, putting his phone away and coming around to her side.

"Oh, I know exactly what you can do with them," Mary frowned at him before running her hand over one of the samples. "This is just gorgeous."

Matthew remained quiet, smiling as Mary's face lit up while she perused the different samples. She began talking animatedly about how she would use different tiles in different areas of the expansion, and explained to Matthew the difference in texture and colour between the pieces of marble. Matthew listened attentively, nodding and smiling all the while.

"She seems to be in a good mood," Anna whispered, watching from outside the boardroom's glass walls.

"Of course she is," Alex nodded. "I told you not to worry. She'll blame Matthew, not you."

"I don't know why I agreed to this whole ridiculous scheme in the first place," Anna grumbled. "It's juvenile."

"Because you know Lady Mary could use a good laugh. She's been so tense around here lately. And you have to admit, watching her chase Matthew around the table was quite the sight," Alex smiled.

Anna bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"You're a horrible influence on me, you know that?" Anna smirked at him.

"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing about you," Alex winked at her, then turned around and went back to his office.

 **Podium Restaurant, Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London, England, February 2015**

"So are there any cute boys in your classes?" Edith asked, sipping her tea.

"It's Gender Studies, Edith," Mary chuckled. "The one boy in the entire school is probably gay."

"That's not true!" Sybil scoffed. "There's three boys, actually. None of them are cute, though."

"May as well be gay, then," Mary shrugged, sipping her tea.

"Well you had best meet someone soon, otherwise Mama will find someone for you, and that never goes well," Edith warned.

"God, I'm too busy to meet anyone," Sybil frowned, taking a cucumber sandwich from the tray. "And why should Mama care about me? Shouldn't she be focused entirely on you?"

"They've given up on me," Edith said, spreading clotted cream over a scone. "I'm destined to be a spinster and they've accepted it."

"Oh, please," Mary rolled her eyes. "What about that newspaper editor that you were seeing before Christmas? Whatever happened to him?"

"He's on assignment in Germany. I haven't heard from him in months," Edith shook her head.

"Do they not have phones or email in Germany, then?" Mary asked.

"He said he would be unreachable while he was over there," Edith shrugged.

"A man of mystery," Mary nodded. "You could use some of that."

Sybil huffed and patted Edith's hand sympathetically.

Mary's phone buzzed. She picked it up off the table and glanced at the screen.

"I need to take this," she said, getting up from the table. "Order for me, darling, won't you? You know what I like."

"All right," Sybil frowned as she watched Mary walk down the hall to the elevator lobby.

"What do you think that's all about?" Sybil asked.

"It's Mary," Edith rolled her eyes. "It probably has to do with work."

"What if it's Matthew?" Sybil smiled.

"If it was Matthew, she wouldn't have gotten up to take his call in private," Edith said.

"What if it's Matthew and they want to have a private conversation, though?" Sybil grinned.

"Oh, please," Edith rolled her eyes. "Now that she's announced that they're together, she'll want to flaunt it in front of us at every opportunity. Believe me, if it's Matthew and he's whispering sweet nothings to her over the phone, she'd put it on speaker so we all could hear it."

"What do you want?" Mary frowned, whispering into her headset as she walked out of the restaurant and towards the elevators. "I'm having tea with my sisters."

"Well, I'll make this brief then. We wouldn't want them to know that you're talking to me, would we?" Richard said.

"Get on with it," Mary grumbled.

"I was just about to tell you the same thing, my dear," Richard replied. "Unless my eyes deceive me, it appears that our friend remains very much alive. Now you can imagine my confusion at that, given our agreement."

"I haven't forgotten," Mary said, glancing around to make sure she was still alone. "These things take time and careful planning. If it was easy, then one of your hired buffoons could have accomplished it."

"How you go about it is entirely not my concern, Mary," Richard said. "I don't expect you to take care of it personally, but I want it done. I warn you, do not test my patience."

"Spare me your posturing, please," Mary rolled her eyes. "I'll decide when it happens. I can't be linked to it in any way, which makes things rather difficult seeing as so many witnesses see us together all the time."

"Again, not my concern. I don't think that you are taking this matter seriously enough," Richard retorted. "Jetting off to Abu Dhabi with your new boyfriend is not applying yourself to the task given to you."

"You had us followed," Mary shook her head incredulously.

"Of course I had you followed!" Richard growled. "I don't mind you getting close to him to carry out your mission, but do ensure you aren't enjoying yourself so much that you lose focus on what is truly important."

"You're unbelievable!" Mary hissed. "If you didn't know about…"

"Oh, but I do, don't I?" Richard interrupted. "I'll say something now I hope I won't have to repeat. If you think you can jilt me, or in some way set me aside, I tell you now, you have given me the power to destroy you, and don't think I won't use it. I want us to end this as friends, but don't ever cross me, do you understand? Never!"

"I understand," Mary said tightly.

"Good. You have until Valentine's Day," he said.

"What?" Mary frowned.

"Valentine's Day. I want you to do what you agreed to do by Valentine's Day, failing which I won't hold off a moment longer, and the consequences shall follow."

He hung up.

Mary put her phone back in her bag and slowly turned back to the restaurant. She had to stop and lean against the wall for a moment to catch her breath and steady her legs. After several deep breaths, she righted herself and walked briskly back to rejoin her sisters.

"Everything all right?" Sybil asked as Mary sat back down.

"Perfect," Mary smiled, picking up the cream and pouring it into her tea. "I've arranged a surprise for Matthew and I was just dealing with some of the details."

"That's rather romantic," Edith teased. "Let's hope that he finds it memorable."

"Oh, he will," Mary nodded, bringing the tea cup to her lips. "I dare say it will be the shock of his life."

Edith and Sybil smiled at each other knowingly.

Mary sipped her tea, turning her head and looking out the large windows, her pulse racing beneath her calm façade.

"Now that's a pity," Edith complained, glancing out the window. "The rain's gotten worse."

Mary remained quiet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Previously:**

 **Podium Restaurant, Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London, England, February 2015**

"You're unbelievable!" Mary hissed. "If you didn't know about…"

"Oh, but I do, don't I?" Richard interrupted. "I'll say something now I hope I won't have to repeat. If you think you can jilt me, or in some way set me aside, I tell you now, you have given me the power to destroy you, and don't think I won't use it. I want us to end this as friends, but don't ever cross me, do you understand? Never!"

"I understand," Mary said tightly.

"Good. You have until Valentine's Day," he said.

"What?" Mary frowned.

"Valentine's Day. I want you to do what you agreed to do by Valentine's Day, failing which I won't hold off a moment longer, and the consequences shall follow."

He hung up.

Mary put her phone back in her bag and slowly turned back to the restaurant. She had to stop and lean against the wall for a moment to catch her breath and steady her legs. After several deep breaths, she righted herself and walked briskly back to rejoin her sisters.

"Everything all right?" Sybil asked as Mary sat back down.

"Perfect," Mary smiled, picking up the cream and pouring it into her tea. "I've arranged a surprise for Matthew and I was just dealing with some of the details."

"That's rather romantic," Edith teased. "Let's hope that he finds it memorable."

"Oh, he will," Mary nodded, bringing the tea cup to her lips. "I dare say it will be the shock of his life."

Edith and Sybil smiled at each other knowingly.

Mary sipped her tea, turning her head and looking out the large windows, her pulse racing beneath her calm façade.

"Now that's a pity," Edith complained, glancing out the window. "The rain's gotten worse."

Mary remained quiet.

 **Chapter 9:**

 **Barclays Wealth and Investment Management, Canary Wharf, London, England, June 2006**

Mary walked down the hall into the pristine reception area. It was rare that she came here without her father, but today was a special occasion, a personal milestone. Today was about her asserting her independence, another step on her way to making a name of her own, rather than relying on that of her family. Her parents didn't know about this appointment, nor did they know about her imminent decision. But they would know eventually. The entire world would know her name one day.

"Ah, Lady Mary," the receptionist smiled brightly. "Mr. Wilson's assistant will be out shortly to bring you through."

"Thank you," Mary nodded. Rather than take a seat, she remained standing. Her nerves were buzzing with anticipation, and she found she could barely stay still. The assistant arrived and greeted her politely. Mary followed her, chin raised, her heels clicking firmly on the tiled floor. She was shown to her banker's office, where the familiar short, stocky man sat behind the desk.

"Lady Mary," the man smiled, coming around his desk and shaking her hand. "Welcome. How did you find your final term?"

"I'm glad to be done," Mary smiled politely, taking the offered seat. She waited patiently as Gerald went back and sat down behind his desk and tea was served by his assistant.

"Well, I'm sure that Lord Grantham must be ever so proud," Gerald nodded pleasantly. "If I could only encourage my Harold to be as ambitious as you. I'm afraid the closest he'll get to London Business School is passing by on the bus!"

Mary smiled kindly at the banker's lame joke. She took a sip of her tea to calm herself.

"Now, your message was rather vague. You wish to make a transfer out of your trust fund, is that right?" Gerald asked.

"That's correct," Mary nodded. "I've been looking into an investment opportunity and I believe now is the time to strike. I'll require that you make the following payment to this bank account in America. They'll be managing my portfolio over there."

Mary took out a card from her purse and passed it across the desk to the banker.

Gerald looked at the card and frowned in surprise. "Lady Mary," he said slowly. "This is practically your entire trust fund."

"Yes," Mary smiled. "The potential return on this investment is far too lucrative to pass up."

"And in America, you say?" Gerald asked, turning to his computer monitor and filling in the requisite electronic forms. "What's the name of this firm? Fairfield…" Gerald said, looking back at the card.

"Fairfield Greenwich," Mary said crisply. "They operate a private fund for select investors. They've achieved an 11% annual return for the past 12 years, with only 10 losing months."

"Impressive," Gerald nodded. "And a private fund, you say?"

"That's right," Mary smiled. "By invitation only, I'm afraid."

"Well," Gerald said, printing off the forms. "How fortunate for you that this opportunity has been made available to you."

"Quite fortunate, yes," Mary smiled.

"And will Lord Grantham be investing as well?" Gerald asked, sliding the papers across the desk and indicating where Mary should sign.

"No," Mary replied. "Papa hasn't been invited actually, and you know how he is about investing overseas."

"That I do! That I do!" Gerald laughed, collecting the signed papers. "Well, I am sorry to see you emptying your holdings here, but an 11% return in today's market is quite extraordinary. The funds should be sent by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Gerald," Mary smiled, rising from her chair. "And don't worry. I expect I'll put some of my profits back in with you. It wouldn't do to have all of my money in America."

"I would greatly appreciate it, Lady Mary," Gerald nodded, shaking her hand and showing her to the door. "And of course, I shall keep all of this confidential. I know how important it is for you to build something of your own. Very admirable. Very admirable, indeed."

"Thank you," Mary smiled. She nodded to the banker and left his office, walking past reception and over to the elevator. Taking out her phone, Mary smiled as she sent out a text message.

 _"Done. The money should be with Fairfield by tomorrow"_ she typed.

Her phone vibrated seconds later with the reply.

 _"Excellent. Congratulations on taking the first step to building your new fortune,"_ Kemal wrote back.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2008**

"Matthew and Isobel won't be coming, after all," Cora announced as she came into the library.

"You couldn't convince her?" Robert asked, putting down his teacup.

"I tried, really I did," Cora shook her head, sitting down on the sofa next to Mary. "She promised me over and over this week that she would think about it, but she just called and said she felt she had to stay in Manchester."

"Who could blame her?" Violet frowned. "The first anniversary is next week. If anything, we should go and visit them."

"Why?" Mary asked. "We went to the funeral. Wasn't that enough?"

"Mary," Sybil frowned at her older sister.

"I'm sorry but I just think that the holidays should be a cheerful time, and Isobel and Matthew's home will be anything but," Mary explained.

"And for quite a good reason," Edith said, staring at her sister incredulously. "They could use our support."

"They have our support," Mary retorted. "We've invited them to join us here. They've chosen not to, and we should respect their wishes. As close as they are to us, they aren't family, you know."

"Matthew practically grew up with us," Edith said. "This is the first Christmas in forever that he won't be around. Between him staying in Manchester and Patrick going to Ibiza with his family, it'll be rather empty around here."

"We'll make do," Mary nodded easily. "Matthew's place is in Manchester with his mother. We really shouldn't intrude. I'd much rather stay here."

"While I disagree with her tone, Mary's right," Violet declared. "If Isobel wants us there, she would tell me. She hasn't said a word. Still, be sure and send a proper flower arrangement on the anniversary."

"I'll deal with it later today," Cora nodded.

"I still can't believe that Reggie's gone," Robert shook his head, sipping his tea slowly. "He was like an older brother to me. I still find myself seeing something in the news that he would find funny, or watching a television show that he would enjoy, and I have to remind myself that he's no longer with us."

The family fell silent.

The moment of reflection was interrupted by Beyoncé's _Irreplacable_ playing from Mary's mobile phone.

Cora frowned.

Edith rolled her eyes.

Sybil shook her head.

Mary rose from the sofa and went off into the parlour to take the call.

* * *

"Yes, hello," Mary said.

"Hello, I'm looking for Mary Crawley," a voice answered from her headset.

"Yes, this is Lady Mary Crawley," Mary replied.

"Miss Crawley, this is Warren Rolland of the United States Securities and Exchange Commission in New York. Do you have a moment to speak?"

"Yes," Mary frowned. What could he possibly want with her?

"Miss Crawley, we're contacting all the clients of Fairfield Greenwich Group. We've been conducting an investigation into their operations and your name is identified as the contact person for a numbered company listed as one of the investors in their Fairfield Sentry Fund. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"Yes, it does," Mary said, a note of concern flaring in her chest. "That's my company that's invested in it."

"Miss Crawley, the Fairfield Sentry Fund provided monies to an investment manager named Bernard Madoff. Mr. Madoff has been arrested and charged with fraud in relation to billions of dollars in non-existent or false investments. Our investigation is ongoing, and Fairfield Greenwich will be a party to that investigation."

"A fraud investigation?" Mary repeated, her concern growing to alarm.

"Yes, Miss Crawley. It appears that Fairfield provided funds from foreign investors to Mr. Madoff as part of an intricate scheme to defraud investors across the world, promising certain returns when, in fact, Mr. Madoff never achieved anywhere close to such performance levels, if the investments ever existed at all."

"But there must be some mistake," Mary said shakily. "I've been receiving quarterly reports, prospectus books, regular dividend payments from Fairfield for two years now."

"Yes, Miss Crawley, I'm sure that you have, but the reports and prospectuses were all a big lie. Whether Fairfield was working with Mr. Madoff, or was one of his victims, is unknown at this time. Up until a short while ago, Mr. Madoff was able to keep the fraud going by paying out the money received from new clients as dividends to older investors. So long as clients did not withdraw their principal, he could keep the fraud running indefinitely. With the recent market downturn, more and more clients began redeeming their holdings, and the scheme fell apart when Mr. Madoff ran out of money to pay his clients back."

Mary sat down on an antique plush chair, her legs losing their strength.

"Miss Crawley?"

"Yes, I'm here," Mary rasped. "How…how much of my principal is left and how soon can you have it transferred back to my bank in London?"

"Miss Crawley, I'm afraid your principal has been spent."

"All of it?" Mary asked, her eyes wide with terror. "But that's over fifty million pounds!"

"Yes, Miss Crawley. I'm sorry, we're attempting to trace the money provided to Mr. Madoff but only a fraction of the billions sent to him remains in his firm. He likely spent or distributed the vast majority of the principal. Anything left has been seized as part of the investigation. In practical terms, your money is gone."

* * *

Mary carried her plate of eggs and ham to her usual seat at the table. She placed her napkin on her lap and took up her fork, just as she did regularly every morning whenever she was at Downton Abbey. This was no regular morning though. She felt as though she couldn't see colours properly, that the air was stuffy all around her. There was a buzzing in her ears that she couldn't get rid of, and her arms and legs felt tight and heavy. Since taking the call from the SEC investigator days ago, her entire world seemed to have been thrown off kilter.

"Papa, did you read about this man in New York who apparently stole billions in a pyramid scheme?" Edith asked, looking up from the newspaper.

"It's quite extraordinary," Robert nodded, putting pepper on his eggs. "I know a few lads who lost a fair bit investing in funds tied to that man. The poor bastards."

Mary sipped her hot chocolate and looked down at her plate, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, her Papa especially.

"Mama says all of Wall Street is in an uproar," Cora remarked as she buttered her toast. "Many are saying that they knew something was strange months ago. The business model for the investment company just made no sense at all to anyone who took the time to read it properly."

Mary stabbed her fork into her scrambled eggs.

"Well, he must have fooled a great number of people," Sybil said.

"Of course he did," Robert sighed. "A fool and his money are soon parted."

"I don't understand," Edith shook her head. "Surely there must have been something plausible in all of it to convince people to stay invested. No one just hands over millions without doing their due diligence, surely?"

"He preyed upon the rich, Edith. Fed them a fanciful tale of guaranteed returns and high performance," Robert explained. "It was easy enough to pay out a few hundred thousand here and there to keep people happy when he was taking in hundreds of millions from new investors. The more people he added to his pyramid, the easier it was to keep the older investors satisfied. As usual, it all goes pear shaped when everyone wants their money back and it's discovered that there's not enough left to pay everyone."

Mary put her fork down.

"There were some rather famous people who were duped," Edith remarked as she read further. "Steven Spielberg, Jeffrey Katzenberg, the Abu Dhabi Investment Authority, even HSBC. You would think they would know better."

Mary took a drink of water for her suddenly dry throat.

"That's the real shame," Robert nodded. "Money can be won and lost. We know that better than most. But to have _this_ be part of your reputation from now on – that you were stupid enough to fall for such a scheme, well, in certain circles, such a taint would never be forgotten."

"It can't be that bad," Cora frowned. "I'm sure Steven Spielberg will recover."

"Of course he will, he's a filmmaker," Robert replied. "His business isn't to handle money or invest it. But, for someone who is supposed to know better, who is supposed to be knowledgeable about money, to be embroiled in all of this would be the ultimate humiliation. A banker, a businessman, a financial adviser, for example. How could anyone possibly trust such a person with their money if that person could be so easily fooled with such false promises? Or, how could anyone claim that they had expertise and knowledge of business when they obviously do not have enough common sense to sniff out a fraudulent scheme when faced with one?"

Mary placed her napkin on the table and rose from her chair.

"Mary?" Cora frowned. "You've barely touched your breakfast."

"I'm not very hungry," Mary said distractedly. "I wasn't feeling well last night. I think I'll just go up and lie down until luncheon."

She left the morning room without another word.

"Do you think she's got that flu that's going around?" Sybil asked, looking at the doorway that Mary had just disappeared through.

"She's fine. You know how Mary hates waking up early when she's on vacation," Edith shrugged.

* * *

Mary went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She paced back and forth, her pulse racing, her hands shaking. She almost jumped when her phone rang. Grabbing it from her vanity, she glanced at the call display, then took a deep breath before answering.

"Evelyn, hello," Mary said cheerfully.

"Hello Mary," Evelyn replied. "I got your text. How is Downton?"

"Lovely, as always," Mary said politely. "We have a light dusting of snow and the grounds look like something out of a Christmas card."

Evelyn chuckled.

"And how are your parents?" Mary asked, struggling to keep her tone even.

"Very well, thank you," Evelyn replied. "They already left for France last week. I'll be joining them in a few days."

"How nice," Mary said. "Well, Evelyn, I wanted to catch you before you left to wish you happy holidays, of course."

"Thank you, Mary. The same to you," Evelyn answered happily. "We'll need to catch up when we both get back to London."

"Yes, of course," Mary said quickly. "I also had a question for you. Have you heard from that financial planner from Turkey that you introduced me to, Kemal Pamuk, lately? Mama is considering a trip to Istanbul in the Spring and I thought I might tag along and wanted to get some recommendations from him. I've tried to text him but haven't gotten an answer."

"I haven't spoken to him in quite a while actually," Evelyn said. "I tried to reach him a few months ago and strangely enough, his mobile was disconnected and the email that I sent to him bounced back. I'm afraid I have no way of contacting him."

"Ah," Mary said, swallowing thickly. "And what about his office? He must still be at that same investment firm?"

"Actually the last time I spoke to him, he told me he was leaving to start up on his own. Something about having some clients who were prepared to go with him and a new opportunity he was big on. He told me he would pass on his new contact information when he got set up, but I haven't heard for him since."

Mary closed her eyes and clenched her teeth.

"But if you're interested in the sights of Istanbul, I can look up some resources for you," Evelyn suggested.

"Oh, that's quite all right," Mary said shakily, opening her eyes. "I'll just put Sybil on it. You know how eager she can be when she has the bit between her teeth."

Evelyn laughed.

"Well, happy Christmas, Evelyn. I should go," Mary said.

"Happy Christmas, Mary. Be well," Evelyn said before hanging up.

Mary wandered over to her bed and sat down. She dropped her phone on the duvet and stared at the wall, large numbers flashing in her mind. Fifty million quid. Her entire trust fund. Practically every penny she owned. All gone. And the dashing foreigner who had recommended Fairfield Greenwich to her in the first place now vanished.

Kemal was so confident and seemed so trustworthy when she first met him. He was exotic, and unique, a blend of Europe and Asia in his features and background, and yet spoke with a perfect English accent and was Oxford educated. Evelyn knew him through family friends, and Kemal already had an impressive client list of millionaires who hired him to manage their money and grow their wealth.

Mary was intrigued by what he could do for her. He promised large returns on her money and little to no risk. She met with him privately a few times as that was what he preferred. He wasn't one of these men who did seminars or made presentations to groups of witless plebes, he said. His services were for the privileged few that he thought wanted to build fortunes. Turn millionaires into billionaires, he said. That was his motto, and Mary liked the sound of that. He wanted to get her into bed, that was obvious, but she easily kept him at arm's length and used him for his financial advice. Just the illusion of getting to fuck her had him crowing about a new investment opportunity in America that all of his clients were jumping on.

She was still in school at the time, but old enough that her trust fund had been released to her. A job with Crawley Group awaited her upon graduation, but she wanted more. With Papa, Granny, and Aunt Rosamund the only members of the Board of Directors and no plans to add more seats anytime soon, she had decades of boredom ahead of her, she thought. Not only would her Papa likely force her to start small and work her way up the ranks, but she was already behind Patrick in the pecking order, despite her being superior to him in every way. She had negotiated more favourable terms with some of their suppliers, and that was just from working part time at Crockfords. No, she wouldn't be pushed aside due to her Papa's old fashioned view of the world. She would build something of worth, all on her own, and when she showed him how she doubled or tripled her investment, he would have to acknowledge that she was a shrewd businesswoman, and not just 'book smart' as he often called her. Kemal was supposed to be her path to greatness.

Mary bent over and covered her face with her hands, sobbing mightily as she tried to resist the urge to retch.

She would never hear from Kemal Pamuk ever again.

* * *

"This one's for Mary," Sybil said, handing a small wrapped box to her older sister. "From Papa."

Robert beamed as Mary took the present from Sybil with shaking hands.

"Hold on, I want to get this on camera," Robert said. "Carson!"

"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded, signalling to one of the footmen to record Mary opening her Christmas present.

"Robert, honestly," Cora shook her head.

"Now, now, this is important," Robert waved his hand at his wife dismissively. "All right, are we recording? Very well, go ahead Mary."

Mary swallowed and slowly pulled the bow. She undid the wrapping paper carefully, at a loss for what this could be. Her father's Christmas presents for her and her sisters were usually entirely predictable – books, gadgets, gift cards and so on. Mary, Edith and Sybil would usually wait a few days, then exchange the gifts for something they truly wanted. Never was opening a Christmas gift a film worthy event.

Mary opened the small box and gasped as she looked inside. She picked up an elegant metal lapel pin and stared at it in wonder, shocked that she was holding the familiar design in her very own hand.

"The Grantham Coat of Arms," she whispered.

"Congratulations, Mary," Robert grinned. "Murray has the necessary paperwork for me to sign in the New Year, but I wanted this to be a surprise. The Board are all in favour of promoting you to the position of Vice-President, Operations. You'll be put in charge of two of our London properties and Patrick will run the other three."

"Thank you, Papa," Mary said, looking at her father as tears began welling in her eyes. "I…I truly don't know what to say."

"You're very welcome," Robert nodded. He walked over to the bar with his empty glass.

Mary felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and blinked at her mother's smiling face.

"Let's see how it looks," Cora said. She reached over and took the pin from Mary's hand and gently attached it to her daughter's blouse.

"She won't have to wear that everyday, will she?" Edith frowned.

"No. It's just given for tradition, more than anything," Sybil shook her head. "But it's so wonderful, isn't it?"

Mary looked at the wide eyes of her youngest sister and smiled bravely. She touched her fingers to the pin, her family's crest, the talisman given only to the executives of Crawley Group, those who wielded the power in the company.

"Now, history demands a toast!" Robert smiled, coming back over to the sofa with a champagne flute in his hand. A footman appeared and passed out champagne to the rest of the family while another kept his camera trained on Mary. She rose on rubbery legs and gamely raised her glass as her Papa smiled at her.

"To Mary," he proclaimed. "And to her bright future."

"To Mary," everyone echoed. Sybil almost shouted the words. Edith preferred to mumble them.

As Mary sipped her champagne, she vowed that she would never tell a soul of her failed investment with Fairfield Greenwich, and though she didn't entirely believe in God, she silently prayed that no one would ever find out.

 **Daily Express Building, Lower Thames Street, London, England, September 2014**

"Right then, seems everything is covered for the Sunday edition. Anyone got anything else?" the editor asked.

"I got a follow up on a small story from last week – the Andrew Madoff passing," a reporter chimed in.

"Oh, right, Bernie's last living son. Died of cancer, didn't he?" the editor shook his head. "What have you got?"

"Details of his will have come out. He had about $16 million US left. A third of it goes to his estranged wife, and he set up a trust for his fiancée," the reporter said.

"A wife and a fiancée, imagine that," another reporter laughed.

"It's a bit of a surprise, really. His wife divorced him the day that Bernie was arrested back in December 2008," the reporter continued. "He shacked up with his girlfriend three days later."

"All those people losing billions with Bernie, and his son keeps his millions and moves his girlfriend in days after his wife leaves him," another reporter shook his head. "The bloody rich…"

"Well, he's not too well off now, is he?" another reporter noted.

""Probably better off than his father, I'd say," someone else commented.

"All right, run your piece," the editor decided. "It's another little chapter in that whole mess, I suppose, and there were a number of investors over here who lost a lot of money so it's still relevant years later."

"Whatever happened to all of the investors, anyway?" a reporter asked.

"There's ongoing lawsuits against the fund managers and companies that invested people's money with Bernie," another reporter answered. "A trustee's recovered a fair amount of it, actually. Legal fees have been stratospheric."

"The fucking rich and their fucking lawyers," another reporter groaned.

"Maybe we could make a few calls and get some reaction," another reporter suggested. "I can't imagine people will be too pleased to know that Bernie's son had $16 million left over after all that."

"Good idea," the editor nodded. "See if you can track down any of the people that we talked to back in 2008 when the story broke."

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 34** **th** **Floor, 30 St. Mary Axe, London, England, September 2014**

Richard looked over his computer monitor, going over the spreadsheet sent to him from one of his assistants. The _Daily Express_ had recently run a story on the death of Andrew Madoff, more of a gossip story on how he had kept millions despite his father's scandal, and the predicted outrage from the fraud victims was a nice touch. As part of its investigations, the paper had updated their list of investors located in Europe who had been swindled out of their money in the failed pyramid scheme. Richard looked over the list, recalling names and faces of those he knew. He liked to keep current with these matters. Being aware of the mishaps of a person's past could prove useful to him.

It was easy enough to get the information with all the lawsuits commenced in the United States and Europe. The plaintiffs all had to be identified on the record and so the lists of Bernie Madoff's victims were public knowledge. Richard didn't care for most of them. Whether a Jewish university in New York lost money or not was not his concern. However, an individual who invested with Madoff was likely a person with little financial acumen, and moreover, didn't know when something was too good to be true. On the odd chance that one of them should wander into one of Richard's casinos or request one of his high-priced escorts or other services, it helped to know who he was dealing with, and how they could be exploited.

Not everyone who lost money was known, though. The investors who did not participate in any lawsuit were never named. SEC investigation records were private and confidential, and so there was a faction of people who had never come forward following Madoff's arrest. Those faceless victims intrigued Richard. They either assumed they would never recover anything of value from the lawsuits, or had a very good reason to remain anonymous.

Over the years, Richard had compiled a list of names of some these hidden victims. Through threats, bribes and calling in favours, he had amassed a pool of information for future use. Whether any of it would ever be of value to him, he didn't know, but the game of uncovering these secrets was part of the fun in and of itself. He enjoyed it. There was a thrill in finding out the dirty secrets of the rich, and he often would revel in the mere knowledge of their shame. These people who thought they were so high and mighty, so above everyone else, the 1% of the 1%, they all needed to be brought down a few pegs, and Richard delighted in wielding the power to do so.

He frowned as he scrolled through the spreadsheet and came to the section where he continued to be missing important details. There were some investors who hid behind their spouses or invested through a family trust or a corporation. This additional layer of protection allowed them to reap the profits of their investments, and distance themselves from any losses. Back in 2008, Richard had put in significant effort to pierce the veil on these shell companies and false fronts to see who was hiding behind them, but since then his enthusiasm had moved on to other schemes. Seeing the updated list now, he was reminded of where he had left off.

Smiling to himself, he picked up his phone and dialled a phone number.

"Companies House, how may I help you?" a small voice said on the other end of the line.

"Brookes, how are you? Sir Richard Carlisle here," Richard said.

"Sir Richard! Very well, thank you. How's the view from up your way?" Brookes asked.

"Clear and sunny, surprisingly," Richard smiled. "Brookes, I was hoping you could help me. I've been looking into the directors and officers of some corporations that were struck off the Companies Register a few years ago. Seems even the records of the closing of these companies has vanished from the electronic database. Might I trouble you to go through the old paper files and see what you can find?"

"I'll do my best, Sir Richard. It will have to be after hours though, if you get my meaning," Brookes said quietly.

"Oh, of course, Brookes, of course," Richard nodded. "I'll send the information to the usual email, and make a donation to the usual account as well."

"Much obliged, Sir Richard," Brookes replied. "I'll get right on it."

"Thank you, Brookes. I look forward to hearing from you," Richard said and ended the call.

Richard sent a quick email to Brookes' personal account and wired a payment to the man's bank. Looking over the list of fraud victims one more time, Richard shrugged and got up from his desk to go look out the window. The Madoff scandal was years ago so the likelihood of anything useful turning up now was remote, but Richard didn't mind taking the chance. Digging for skeletons was one of his favourite hobbies, after all.

 **The Balcony, Galvin at Windows Restaurant, Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London, England, November 2014**

"Mary, my dear," Richard smiled, kissing her cheek in greeting. He held her chair as she sat down, then returned to his own seat.

"Sir Richard," Mary nodded. "How's business?"

"I can't complain," Richard smiled. "I took the liberty of ordering for you. Pinot Noir, yes?"

"Thank you," Mary nodded.

They made small talk while the wine was poured and the cheese plate was brought out. When they were finally left alone, Mary broached the subject of why she was here. She didn't want to spend any more time with Sir Richard than necessary. She tolerated his acquaintance for business purposes only. He was a powerful man who she would rather have as an ally than an enemy, but having drinks with him was about the extent of her tolerance without others with them to act as appropriate buffer.

"Now, you mentioned you had urgent business to discuss?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Richard nodded, sipping his Scotch. "It concerns that fellow who's come to work for you. The Crawley who isn't part of the family."

"Matthew," Mary said.

"Yes, him," Richard smiled. "The more I think about our meeting at the Pink Ribbon Ball last month, the more I can't believe he was given such power in your company. How have you been able to stand dealing with such a simpleton each day?"

"Matthew isn't so bad," Mary shrugged. "He keeps to his division, and I keep to mine, and it's been tolerable so far."

"I see," Richard nodded.

"Why?" Mary asked.

"I suppose I wonder what the long term plan is, is all," Richard said. "Is this to be your life for the foreseeable future? Competing against whichever puppet Lord Grantham brings in? I would have thought your own father would recognize you as his true heir by now."

"Papa will come around eventually, I'm sure," Mary said. "There's no hurry."

"You're too kind, my dear," Richard smiled. "I just am not as patient as you. I prefer to eliminate those who stand in the way of what I want, rather than wait for them to step aside."

"Why so interested?" Mary asked casually, sipping her wine. "Surely you aren't vexed by the administrative decisions at Crawley Group?"

"It always annoys me to see true merit fail to be properly rewarded," Richard smiled. "And after dealing with your family for so long, having this outsider among us is disappointing."

"Well, until he proves himself incompetent, Matthew is here to stay and we'll all just need to accept that, I expect," Mary shrugged. "Was that the urgent business? Wondering how Matthew is faring in his new life?"

"Partly," Richard nodded. "I have a proposition for you, one that will benefit you greatly."

"How mysterious," Mary smirked.

"You don't sound very excited," Richard laughed.

"You know that's not how I am," Mary nodded. "Let's hear it then."

"I think I know how to put you in the position where you belong," Richard said. "To give you sole control over the casinos, and to be installed as Lord Grantham's true heir."

"Goodness, a rather small project, particularly for someone with no authority in the family or the company," Mary blinked. "I'm all ears."

"It's rather straightforward actually," Richard said. "Remove Matthew and the field is open for you."

"Send Matthew back to Manchester? How ever would I do that? He's practically just arrived," Mary chuckled.

"I actually think a more permanent solution is called for than just a relocation," Richard said, tilting his head in implication.

Mary's eyes widened.

"Sir Richard, I will not be a party to any such scheme…" she said.

"Oh come now, Mary," Richard scoffed. "He isn't family. He's no one. Call it collateral damage on your rise to power."

"I don't know what I could have possibly said or done to make you think that I would be open to such a plan!" Mary protested. "Matthew's family and mine have been close for years. We've spent Christmases, summers, holidays at Downton and in London since we were children. I practically grew up with him!"

"He doesn't belong here, Mary," Richard said firmly. "Not only is he not one of us, but I don't care for his internet business. He's in competition with my casinos, and I do not take kindly to that."

"We're in competition with you as well," Mary said carefully.

"That's a different matter altogether," Richard said, waving his hand. "Your father and I have always competed on a level playing field, and in a respectful manner. Matthew Crawley represents the kind of new age businessman that I have no patience for. He is against everything I have built – the traditional model of gambling and the bricks-and-mortar casino. He's all software and trading money back and forth with the click of a mouse. If he wasn't affiliated with Crawley Group, I would have dealt with him already."

"But he is a part of us, Sir Richard," Mary noted. "A very significant part. Besides, getting rid of Matthew won't get rid of his websites."

"He's the head of his operation," Richard replied. "I know his type. Computer geeks, the whole lot of them. They are rather particular about control. His business is a threat to me, and to you as well, and with him gone, that threat will be lessened considerably, I am sure of it."

"Papa will be crushed if anything were to happen to Matthew, particularly after losing James and Patrick," Mary said.

"How fortunate, then, that Crawley Group has a very worthy successor in its Vice-President, Operations," Richard smiled.

"I can't allow this," Mary shook her head. "You leave me no choice but to report this to my father and to Matthew."

"You'll do no such thing," Richard said coldly, his eyes narrowing. "I wanted to avoid this, Mary. I thought you would see things as I see them. You and I have so much in common that I assumed you would understand. I see now that you will need some convincing."

"What are you saying?" Mary hissed.

"You're going to help me get rid of Matthew Crawley, Mary," Richard announced. "You have his trust. You have easy access to him. No one would ever suspect you. You're the ideal candidate."

"Me? I'm not a…killer!" Mary retorted. "You're mad if you think that I…"

"You'll cooperate, Mary," Richard interrupted. "You'll cooperate or I'll be forced to publish a rather spicy tale of a young woman and her disastrous investment in the ill-fated Fairfield Greenwich Group Sentry Fund."

Mary was so stunned she did not have time to feign ignorance. It had been years since she'd heard that name.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" she struggled.

"Don't play with me," Richard sighed. "We both know that you lost millions with Bernie Madoff and his pyramid scheme. Now, you've very wisely done well to conceal such information. It would be career ending for you if the high rollers and whales that you charm at your casinos were aware of what a horrible mistake you made, particularly coming on the heels of that rather unfortunate matter with the poker player in the Courts. I can't even imagine what a disappointment such news would be to your father. He's not a very forgiving man, is he?"

Mary was unable to think of a reply.

"One thing that Matthew Crawley is apparently very good at doing is protecting himself," Richard said. "I cannot for the life of me understand why, but my associates who specialize in dealing with…problems…refuse to go near him. So, my dear, that is where you come in. I want you to get close to him, and when the time is right, eliminate him."

Mary gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

"I'll let you decide when, where and how the deed is to be done," Richard continued. "Just so long as it is done within a reasonable amount of time. I don't care how you do it, just get it done. Deal with Matthew Crawley and your scandal will remain safe with me. What is more, once he's out of the way, I am quite confident that Lord Grantham will give you complete control. You will rule your part of London, just as you always dreamed."

"Why are you doing this?" Mary whispered. "All of this effort just to get rid of one rival?"

"That's none of your concern," Richard said, locking his gaze on hers. "Just take care of it, Mary. I'm giving you an easy choice. Matthew's life, or yours. Because if he lives, I will publish, and the life you have built for yourself will be over, I assure you."

Mary looked down at her lap, her heart beating madly in her chest, her mind frazzled with all that had been revealed in the past minutes. She tried to think of her options, how she could turn this to her advantage, deceive him somehow, agree for the moment, then turn the tables later.

She was at a complete loss.

"Do we understand each other, Mary?" Richard asked.

Mary raised her chin and gazed fiercely at him.

"We do," she said coldly.

"Good," Richard smiled, raising his glass of Scotch.

Mary got up from the table and left the restaurant as quickly as she could.

Richard watched her go, sipping his Scotch thoughtfully.

"Matthew Crawley, I have found your Delilah," he smiled.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

"I won't be reachable throughout the weekend, Anna," Mary said as she looked over her calendar.

"This wouldn't be because Saturday is your first Valentine's Day with Mr. Crawley, would it?" Anna smiled.

"Don't be stupid. No one's ever called me sentimental, have they? And for good reason," Mary scoffed.

"No," Anna shook her head. "Which is why it's so adorable to see you acting this way."

Mary rolled her eyes as Anna laughed.

"Fine, what delights do you have planned for Alex for tomorrow then? It's your first Valentine's as well," Mary asked, arching her eyebrow.

Anna blushed. "He's taking me to Bob Bob Ricard," she said quietly.

"Ah, oysters, champagne and, of course, the infamous Chocolate Glory dessert," Mary smiled. "My, Alex knows what he's doing, doesn't he? You won't be able to get him home fast enough."

"Mary!" Anna exclaimed, her face turning crimson.

Mary looked at her knowingly.

They both laughed.

"I'm a bit nervous about his present though," Anna admitted.

"I should think that would be the easiest part of the entire evening," Mary smiled.

"No, I mean an actual present," Anna smirked. "Something more meaningful than just a tie or cufflinks."

"Ah, I see," Mary nodded. "Well, I think whatever you choose for him, he'll appreciate."

Anna smiled and bit her bottom lip at the thought.

"What about you?" Anna asked. "Have you decided what you're getting for Mr. Crawley?"

"Oh, yes," Mary said, swallowing nervously and looking away. "I've had it planned out for a while actually."

"My, my," Anna smiled, getting up from her chair and heading for the door. "He must be quite a special fellow for you to go to so much trouble. I don't think I've ever seen you make such an effort for any man before. Well, have fun!"

Mary nodded as Anna left her office.

"Yes, he is," Mary whispered, frowning down at her desk. "A very special fellow."

* * *

"How are you faring, William?" Anna asked, coming into his office.

"Nothing still," William shook his head at his computer monitors. I've reviewed the videos that you recovered from Mr. Green's office, but between the lighting in the nightclub being all over the place and most of the business he did there just selling drugs, I haven't found anyone who could be a possible suspect."

"I was afraid of that," Anna sighed. "Well, keep at it. We've got nothing else to go on at the moment.

"I will," William nodded.

Anna turned and left his office. She smiled as she returned to hers and saw Alex seated in his usual chair, browsing over his mobile.

"Decided to make yourself comfortable, did you, Mr. Lewis?" she asked, coming around and sitting down at her desk.

"I thought I'd save you a phone call," Alex said, putting his mobile back in his pocket. "What did William say?"

"He hasn't found anything," Anna shrugged. "Honestly, I don't expect him to. How do you go about locating a man when you don't know what he looks like? I've told him to see if there's any footage of Green dealing with anyone in his office besides clubgoers looking for drugs. That isn't a very specific instruction."

"No, but it's the only lead we've got left," Alex said. "If we can track down our hitman, we might be able to find out who hired him."

"That is if there even was a hitman," Anna noted. "It's all a theory for now."

"What did Lord Grantham say when Lady Mary told him our news?" Alex asked.

"Not much," Anna said. "He had the same questions we did, and we're woefully short on answers. He said to keep up our investigation, but he didn't offer much beyond that. Between Mr. James and Mr. Patrick, I don't think Lord Grantham has the energy left to look into these things. He probably doesn't think it'll lead anywhere."

"Well, so far, he's right," Alex said, rising from his chair. "I've got to go run an errand. What time will you be ready to leave?"

"Six," Anna said, looking at her computer monitors. "I need groceries, so we either need to stop at Tesco on the way back to my place or you're taking me to dinner."

"Right. I'll think about it between now and when I pick you up," Alex said, smiling at her and leaving her office.

Anna smirked as she typed away at her keyboard.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew exhaled deeply and put his head down, upping the cadence as his legs churned away on the bike. Sweat poured off his forehead and dropped to the towel below, the beat of the music driving him to push a little harder as his heart rate jumped. His breathing turned to harsh grunts as he counted down the final seconds of the interval, groaning aloud as he finished. His head snapped back up and his legs returned to a more normal speed as he went into the cool down phase. Swiping a shaking finger across his phone, he frowned at the data from his workout as he reached for his water bottle.

Alex opened the door and came into the suite. He smiled wryly at the well recognized sight of his boss pedalling away on his stationary bike trainer. Matthew was sitting up now, guzzling water from his bottle, his chest covered in sweat. Alex shook his head and placed the large package he was carrying down on the coffee table before fetching a beer from the fridge.

"I suppose I can't be angry with you for buggering off from the office if this is what you've been spending your afternoon doing," Alex said, sipping his beer and sitting down on the couch.

"Is that it?" Matthew asked, nodding his head towards the package.

"It is," Alex nodded. "I picked it up just now. No one's seen it, I assure you."

Matthew stopped pedalling and swung himself off the bike. He wiped his face with the towel and came over to the coffee table.

"Stay back!" Alex frowned, rising from the couch. "You'll perspire all over it and then what good will it be? Here, stay there and I'll show it to you."

Matthew frowned, but remained where he stood as Alex lifted the package and carefully unwrapped it. Keeping out of flying sweat range, he showed it to Matthew.

"Well? What do you think?" Alex asked.

Matthew squinted a bit and leaned forward as he peered at the package. Alex instinctively pulled away a bit more. Finally, Matthew straightened his posture and smiled. He nodded as he sipped his water and headed for the bedroom.

"Perfect," Matthew declared. "Wrap it up again and hide it in my closet. It's the last place she'll think to look."

Alex rolled his eyes and brought the package through to the bedroom, going into Matthew's walk-in closet. Glancing around, he tucked it behind a row of suits at the back.

"The glamorous life of an assistant," Alex muttered.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2015**

Anna blinked and slowly lifted her head from the pillow. She glanced over at the clock and frowned. Picking up her phone from the nightstand, she frowned again as she realized her alarm hadn't gone off. Even more curiously, her alarm was apparently not even on. She turned her head and blinked again at the empty side of the bed.

Sitting up and stretching her arms, she grabbed her robe from the nearby chair and fumbled with it as she walked out into the hallway. She smiled as she came into the kitchen, coming up behind Alex seated at the breakfast bar and hugging him.

"You sneaky git, you turned off my alarm," she mumbled, closing her eyes and resting her head against his bare shoulder.

"Just once I'd like to sleep in until I wake up naturally," Alex smiled, turning his head and kissing her. "Was that not your wish?"

"You shouldn't take everything I say so literally," Anna smirked, moving over and taking the stool next to him. She reached over and snatched the rest of his croissant, tearing off a piece and popping it into her mouth.

"And why not?" Alex asked, pushing her coffee mug over to her. "Aren't you pleased that I'm paying attention?"

"Yes," Anna nodded. "But it makes me feel rather nervous, as though I may not be holding up my end of this relationship. My memory's not as good as yours."

"Don't worry about that," Alex laughed, getting up off his stool and taking his empty mug over to the sink. "I'll remind you if you slip up on anything important."

Anna rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. She stared at her glass and shook her head as she realized he got her coffee exactly right.

"Milk, three sugars," he whispered, kissing her cheek. Anna blinked as he placed a small box in front of her wrapped with a blue bow. "Happy Valentine's Day, Anna."

"What's this?" she asked, looking at him in confusion.

"Well, the point would be that you have to open it to find out," Alex smiled.

"But I thought we weren't exchanging presents until dinner!" Anna swallowed nervously.

"All right, I'll wait, then," Alex shrugged, reaching for the box.

"Wait!" Anna said, grabbing his hand. "I mean, you did give it to me now. It would be rude not to open it."

"I agree," Alex laughed. "Go on."

Anna smiled in anticipation and pulled the bow. Lifting the cover off the box, her eyes went wide at seeing the blue velvet case inside.

Taking the case out with shaking fingers, Anna opened it and gasped.

"Oh, Alex," she whispered. "They're beautiful."

She just stared at the pair of diamond link earrings. They were gorgeous, like something that Mary and her sisters would wear. Anna didn't own any diamonds. No one had ever given them to her, and she never thought it was right for a woman to buy herself diamonds.

"So you see now why I couldn't wait for dinner," Alex smiled, turning her head and kissing her lips softly. "Would you wear them tonight?"

"Certainly," Anna smiled, kissing him again. "I love them. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Alex smiled. "Finish your coffee. I'm going to go jump in the shower."

He untangled his arms from her waist and walked down the hall to the bedroom. As he turned for the ensuite, small hands shoved him aside.

"Coffee can wait," Anna said, smirking at him as she went past to the shower, taking off her robe. Alex gawked at her for a moment before hurrying to follow.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015**

"What are you doing here?" Edith asked. "I thought you'd be spending the day with Matthew."

"He's picking me up later," Mary mumbled, looking at her mobile.

"I see. So does he have any idea about the grand plan you have in store for him tonight?" Edith smiled.

"He's completely clueless," Mary replied, not looking up. "What about you? Doing anything tonight?"

"Getting together with some of the girls for an Anti-Valentines Day party," Edith said smugly. "We're going to get very drunk and curse the lack of good men in the world all night long."

"How empowering of you," Mary rolled her eyes. "If you lot put as much effort into attracting a man as you did complaining about not having one, you'd be far better off."

"Says the woman with the gorgeous rich boyfriend," Edith laughed. "It's quite easy to preach from your lofty position, isn't it?"

"Hardly," Mary sighed, finally looking over at her sister. "All I'm saying is that it's no good to obsess one way or another. Defining yourself by your relationship status is ridiculous, as is worrying about whether or not you'll be having a shag on Valentine's Day."

"Again, easy for you to say when you know the answer to that question is a resounding yes," Edith muttered.

"Fine, be that way," Mary said. "It's no concern of mine."

"Yes, I know," Edith said. "Have fun letting Matthew tie you up, or whatever other fantasy you'll be acting out tonight."

Mary blushed as Edith left the room.

Alone once again, Mary put her phone down and looked up at her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. Her worried eyes stared back at her before she closed them and tried to block out the weight of what she faced tonight.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew undid his tie and threw it on the floor with the other rejects. He reached into the open drawer of his dresser and looked at his other options, frowning as he found fault with each one. He didn't want monochromatic and he didn't want circles or stripes or some other busy pattern. He finally settled on a navy silk with a subtle textured pattern.

"Better than the red one, at least," he muttered, looking at himself in the mirror as he tied a Windsor knot around his neck.

His came out into the living room after ensuring his pocket square, cuff links, tie clip, buttons and watch all matched with his suit. Glancing at the time, he checked over the details for this evening. His car was being brought up by the valet and would be waiting for him when he reached the lobby. Their cosy corner table was reserved and confirmed. Flowers had been delivered this morning and were cut and placed in vases throughout the suite. He had fresh candles in the bedroom and champagne and strawberries would be brought up by the hotel staff while he and Mary were at dinner. Taking a long look around the room, he could not think of anything he had missed.

"Ah," he exclaimed, turning around and going back to the bedroom. Glancing back in his closet, he smiled as Mary's gift sat tucked away in the back.

"Right," he nodded, coming back out and grabbing his car keys. "Off we go."

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015**

Mary wiped the lipstick off with a pad and tried again. She steadied her hand and applied a smooth coat of the pink shade, then the nude lip liner. Pursing her lips back and forth several times, she was finally satisfied and put the cosmetics away. She reached over to her jewellery box and retrieved the earrings to match her necklace. Raising one to her ear, she fumbled and dropped it on the floor.

"Fuck," she said harshly, reaching down and retrieving the fallen bauble. She wiped it with a cloth and looked at her reflection as she mounted one earring in place, then the other. She turned her head side-to-side, checking over her hair, her makeup and jewellery to ensure it all looked perfect. She'd kept her hair down, just the way Matthew liked it, and she kept her makeup to a minimum. He preferred the natural look, and she thought she looked better without a lot of colour anyway. Done with her preparations, she got up from her vanity, grabbed her purse and left her bedroom.

The house was quiet and empty as she came downstairs. Edith had left a while ago and Sybil was out for dinner with friends. Mary went into the parlour to wait for Matthew, putting her phone in her bag to ensure she remembered to bring it with her.

She paced around the room, rubbing her bare arms as a chill went down her spine despite the fire in the hearth.

Mary paused when she passed by the coffee table. As children, she and her sisters used this room as their play area. She recalled rather heated card games and board games as they gathered around the coffee table and hilarious bouts of charades in front of the fireplace. She smiled at the memory of Matthew waving his arms madly trying to guess the answer to a puzzle, or dancing around to celebrate a win. He was a quiet boy and her Mama often encouraged Patrick to be nicer to him, because he didn't have a lot of friends, she said. But whenever competition was involved, Matthew always came out of his shell. You couldn't get him to shut up or sit still if there was a prize to be won.

Mary swallowed and closed her eyes. Stupid childhood memories were no use to her now. There was no point thinking about how his blue eyes would look at her with such adoration back then. Even when they were teenagers, he was the only one who would ask her how school was going, or what her plans were for the summer, or what she thought about some current news story. She dismissed it all as just idle chatter back then, his weak attempt at making conversation because he wasn't like other boys and couldn't figure out how to flirt properly or tell decent jokes to entertain her.

She opened her eyes and let out a long breath. No, Matthew was nothing like other boys at all.

"Lady Mary," a soft voice called from the doorway.

"Yes, Mrs. Bute," Mary replied, turning around and looking at the housekeeper.

"Mr. Crawley is outside," Mrs. Bute announced.

"I'll be right out," Mary said firmly.

Mrs. Bute nodded and left.

Mary swallowed and took a deep breath, blinking her eyes several times. She grabbed her purse from the side table and walked briskly to the foyer. She thanked Bates politely for helping her into her coat and went outside where Matthew was standing at the kerb.

"You clean up nicely," she smiled as she reached him. She touched his face with her gloved hand and kissed him firmly.

"Ready to go?" he grinned, holding the car door open for her.

"All set," she nodded, settling elegantly into the passenger seat.

Matthew closed her door and went around and got in the driver's side. He buckled his seat belt and smiled at Mary as his hand moved over the leather shift lever.

"Our first Valentine's Day together," he beamed. "Are you looking forward to tonight?"

Mary gave him a small smile. God, he did look gorgeous. Even in the glow of the dashboard light, his entire face was lit up with anticipation, it seemed.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I'm looking forward to all sort of things," Matthew teased, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the kerb. "At the risk of raising the bar for myself, I think tonight will be a night you won't soon forget."

Mary turned away and looked out the window at the stately homes of St. James as Matthew eased the car towards Pall Mall.

"That it will be," she said quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015**

"Our first Valentine's Day together," he beamed. "Are you looking forward to tonight?"

Mary gave him a small smile. God, he did look gorgeous. Even in the glow of the dashboard light, his entire face was lit up with anticipation, it seemed.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I'm looking forward to all sorts of things," Matthews teased, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the kerb. "At the risk of raising the bar for myself, I think tonight will be a night you won't soon forget."

Mary turned away and looked out the window at the stately homes of St. James as Matthew eased the car towards Pall Mall.

"That it will be," she said quietly.

 **Chapter 10:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2005**

"I hate this," Sybil whinged folding her arms across her chest. "It's useless, isn't it?"

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Lady Sybil, this is only for your own protection, I assure you," Carson said patiently. "It is my sincere wish that you shall never have to make use of these skills, however it is imperative that you are properly trained in them, when you become old enough to learn, like your sisters before you. For now, observing what is expected of you is a proper way to become familiar with the steps and process."

"Why? We have security, don't we?" Sybil frowned.

"They aren't with us all of the time, though," Edith reminded her. "Anyway, you hate the security as well."

"I hate that we need security," Sybil corrected her sister. "I have nothing against the guards. They're just doing their jobs. But if Papa would just get us out of…"

"Sybil, honestly," Mary scolded her. "You're fifteen! You have no clue what you're talking about so quit with your crusading and just pay attention!"

Sybil glared at her older sister, but quieted down.

"Very well, Lady Edith, if you please," Carson said, gesturing towards the table.

Edith nodded and stepped forward. She picked up the gun and loaded the magazine, just as Carson had taught her. Keeping it pointed at the floor, she moved over to the shooing position and raised the gun with both hands, her left tucked under her right. Staring down the range at the target, she took in a breath, aimed and fired three quick shots before exhaling and lowering the gun. Stepping back from the shooting position, Edith engaged the safety and removed the magazine, placing the empty gun on the table.

"Your turn now, Lady Mary, whenever you're ready," Carson nodded.

Mary reached over and picked up her favourite gun. She turned and loaded the magazine as she walked to the shooting position. In one smooth motion that was markedly faster than Edith's, Mary raised the gun and fired off three shots at her target. She took a quick breath, then fired another three shots before lowering the gun and ejecting the magazine. Returning to the table, she set the gun and magazine down and stepped back next to her sisters, clasping her hands behind her and raising her chin confidently.

Carson pushed the button for the targets to be brought forward. He examined them closely as the girls waited behind him. Edith stood still, a bored expression on her face. Mary craned her neck to see the results for herself.

"Very well done, both of you," Carson said, allowing a slight note of pride to creep into his usually staid baritone as he replaced the paper targets with fresh ones. "Remember, in a real danger situation, we only want to stop an assailant long enough for security to move in and subdue him, or to escape. Always aim for the centre of the chest. Trying to hit the head or a limb increases the probability of missing. We always focus only on the target. Never look at his eyes, his hands or any other part of him besides the small square that you are aiming for. Now, again, please, and this time when the magazine is spent, quickly load another and continue for three more shots."

Sybil watched as her sisters went through their target practice. Even wearing ear protectors and goggles, she still flinched a bit with each bullet fired. Edith was mechanical and rigid, carrying out all of Carson's instructions precisely and accurately, but with deliberate and slow movements. Her sister seemed to be shooting because someone told her to and she just wanted to get it over with.

Mary, on the other hand, seemed to take to shooting with relish. As the eldest daughter, she had trained longer than Edith, and seemed more at ease and comfortable with the task. Mary went through the exercises without even thinking twice, raising the gun from her hip quickly and seamlessly. She even practised shooting one-handed, which Edith did not want to try. After each stage, Mary would glance eagerly at the targets, breaking into a smile before Carson even finished looking them over.

Eventually, Carson declared the session finished and dismissed the sisters to go back upstairs while he replaced the targets and cleaned the guns. Sybil was grateful to remove the goggles and ear protectors and leave the range behind. She bit her lip nervously as she followed her sisters down the hall and towards the stairs.

"What…what does it feel like? Shooting?" she asked carefully.

"It's awkward at first, but you get used to it," Edith replied plainly.

"Mary?" Sybil asked.

"She's right," Mary nodded. "With enough practice, it feels entirely natural and easy. Just point and pull the trigger, really."

"Do you think you could ever actually do it, though? Shoot someone? Someone in real life, I mean?" Sybil asked.

"We'll never have to do that, Sybil," Edith shook her head. "We practice to appease Papa more than anything else. You said it yourself. We have security to take care of any unpleasantness. Besides, who would ever bother targeting us?"

"It's a useful skill to know, nonetheless," Mary interjected. "And it's important to learn. A simple matter of survival. When faced with it, if it comes down to your life or someone else's, you need to be ready to do whatever is necessary. Kill, or be killed."

Sybil swallowed and hurried up the stairs with her sisters, desperate to get out of the basement and back up into the brighter rooms of the house.

 **L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Covent Garden, London, England, February 2015**

"Please tell me that's the last course," Mary sighed, dabbing at her mouth with her linen napkin. "The lobster alone was quite enough, and I couldn't resist the sea bass, but to add the duck and foie gras as well, goodness," she shook her head, putting her napkin back across her lap.

"It was the last course," Matthew nodded, reaching out and taking her hand across the dinner table. "Before dessert, that is."

Mary laughed, finishing the rest of her red wine. She played with his fingers, rubbing his knuckles gently with her thumb. He had been taking her hand throughout the meal. He held it as he perused the menu, again when the amuse bouche and caviar were served, and now once more with their scrumptious dinner drawing to a close. Mary didn't mind. Tonight of all nights, she was determined to allow him as many indulgences as he liked.

"Did you enjoy the meal?" he asked, smiling at her.

"I believe I may have enjoyed it too much," Mary blushed, looking down demurely. "It isn't terribly ladylike to eat all these courses, and in front of my boyfriend no less. You must think me a glutton."

"My opinion of you hasn't changed after watching you eat, I assure you," Matthew laughed. "I think Sybil still has you beat. She has the metabolism of an Olympic swimmer. I don't know here she puts it all."

"Yes, but you haven't seen me take on fish and chips yet," Mary joked, looking back up at him. "It can be quite startling."

Matthew laughed and leaned forward. Mary felt a shock of excitement, wondering if he would dare kiss her in full view of the entire restaurant. Then again, they were sitting in a dark corner and everyone in the place was engrossed in their own dates. He could pull her into his lap and no one would notice.

And she probably wouldn't object.

"I'm surprised you didn't reserve us a private table," she commented idly, glancing about the room. "You usually like keeping out of view."

"I don't mind eating amongst the masses," Matthew shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Besides, it's probably better that we don't have a private room to ourselves. Far easier to behave in a public place when there are eyes upon us."

Mary arched her eyebrow at him and smirked.

"Why, Matthew Crawley," she drawled. "Are you saying you're an exhibitionist?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "Though I could be convinced under the right circumstances."

Mary laughed and slapped his hand, withdrawing hers to a safer distance. She felt her arousal stirring from his lustful gaze and blatant innuendo. Normally she would roll her eyes and scoff at such vulgar suggestions, but after these past months with Matthew, flirting with him felt intoxicatingly dangerous and alluring all at once. It was easy to forget herself around him.

"You're full of surprises," she shook her head.

"I would say the same of you," Matthew smiled.

"How?" Mary asked lightly. "I'm hardly mysterious."

"You're mocking me, surely," Matthew chuckled. "We both know that you hate to be predictable, darling."

Mary blushed and looked down again. "And yet you're still with me," she said quietly.

"Of course," Matthew laughed. "We're a team now, you and I."

Mary looked up at him, her eyes becoming guarded and serious. "Is it that simple, Matthew?" she asked softly. "We've known each other since we were children. I've hardly treated you well over the years. Even when you arrived in London, I was horrible to you from that very first dinner. We've not had the most auspicious of beginnings compared to most couples."

"What's wrong with our beginning?" Matthew asked, surprised by her change of tone.

"It's hardly the stuff of poems and fairy tales," Mary said nervously. "That night when I…when I came to you…when I tried to seduce you…why did you insist on a relationship?"

"You know why," Matthew said easily. "I told you. I don't believe in casual sex, Mary."

"Yes, so you said," Mary nodded. "But you could have just sent me away, turned me out. Why did you want to be exclusive with me? Why even give me the option? Surely you knew that wasn't what I came to you for."

"I gathered that, yes," Matthew agreed. "I also knew we would be good together, and so I wanted the chance to show you."

"Doesn't it bother you, though?" Mary demanded. "That I came into this under false pretences?"

"Are you asking me if I'm bothered that you wanted to sleep with me before you became my girlfriend?" Matthew smiled. "I can't say I'm bothered at all that you were obsessed with my body at first, no."

Mary shook her head at his jest. Was he truly so forgiving, or just delusional?

"I just feel as though I've caught you with a lie somehow," she muttered. "That perhaps you're seeing something in me that actually isn't there."

"Such as?" Matthew asked.

"I don't know," Mary said, watching him carefully. "There's nicer women out there than me, surely."

"What makes you think that I want a nice woman?" he asked plainly.

"There are women who aren't as competitive as I am, who don't argue as much, who don't have such complicated families, and who have lives that are more normal," she continued.

"Yes, there are," Matthew nodded. "I don't see how any of that matters."

"Of course it matters, Matthew," Mary huffed. She didn't know why she shifted their formerly pleasant conversation towards this more serious and rather depressing direction, but now she couldn't stop herself. She stared at the candle on the table between them, weighing her words before proceeding.

"Wouldn't it be better if you were with someone more…more…genuine? Someone less challenging? Someone who didn't have to be convinced to be your girlfriend? Someone who was besotted with you from the start? Wouldn't that be easier for you?" she asked.

"Maybe," Matthew allowed. "But you're here with me now. We're together. Why should our past history matter so much?"

"I just don't see how you can be with me and not be suspicious as to my motives, given how I've chosen to treat you, and others, in the past," Mary sniffed.

"Why are you so concerned about how you treated me before?" Matthew asked, still smiling at her. "Isn't what you do now more important?"

"Aren't all of us stuck with the choices we make?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Yes, that's true," Matthew nodded, appraising his wine glass thoughtfully. "If you choose to let the past control you, it shall forever be so."

"You make it all sound so easy," Mary rolled her eyes, reaching for her wine glass, then realizing it was empty, settling for her sparkling water instead.

"Mary," Matthew smiled, raising his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip before continuing. "How do you know it isn't me who has improper motives?"

"What?" she exclaimed, gulping down her water rather abruptly.

"I could be using you," Matthew said lightly. "I could be using you for sex, distracting you while I seize control of the company, pretending to want a relationship with you to ingratiate myself further to your parents, manipulating you for the sake of all manner of ruses and schemes that you don't know about."

"But you said that…" Mary frowned.

"And how do you know that I was being genuine?" Matthew asked. "Because you think me nice? What makes you so sure that I am?"

"I…" Mary hesitated. "I just…know. You would never…"

"I would never what?" Matthew asked. "Take a woman to bed and lie to her? You don't think me capable of that?"

"No," Mary shook her head, her voice gaining strength. "No, absolutely not."

"Interesting," Matthew smiled. "Well, by the same token, I don't think you capable of being with me for the past three months and not feeling something for me in return; something genuine. So, either we're both fools, or perhaps one of us is a very good liar. Are you a good liar?"

"I…" Mary swallowed. "Not at everything, apparently."

"Good, so whether we be fools or not, we are equals, regardless of how we came into this," Matthew grinned, reaching out and taking her hand again. "Now, was there anything else you felt the need to tell me, or can we get back to our date?"

Mary squeezed his hand and gave him a smile she didn't entirely feel. "I need to go freshen up," she stated.

"Don't be long, darling," Matthew said, kissing her hand before letting it go. "The dessert is specially made for two, and it would be rather embarrassing if I was alone when it was served."

She nodded and rose from her chair.

He got up out of his seat and stood by respectfully as she turned and went off in the direction of the washroom, carrying her purse at her side. Matthew watched her, not sitting back down until she disappeared from sight.

 **Bob Bob Ricard Restaurant, Soho, London, England, February 2015**

"Thank you," Anna smiled as Alex held her coat open for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves and stood still as he wrapped the coat around her, using it as an excuse to hug her back against him for longer than was necessary.

"I think I can manage with the rest of it, Mr. Lewis," she joked after a moment, looking back up at him.

Alex laughed and finally released her. Taking her hand, he walked her out of the restaurant and down to the kerb where he handed his claim ticket to the valet.

"Right away, sir," the valet nodded, and sprinted down the pavement and around the corner.

"Oh, shit," Anna frowned, letting go of Alex's hand and searching through her coat pockets.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"My gloves," Anna muttered. "They must have fallen out in the coat room."

"I'll go and get them. Wait here," Alex said, leaning down and kissing her cheek.

"My hero," Anna smirked.

Alex quickly went back inside.

Anna buried her hands in her pockets and turned away from the restaurant door. She looked down the street in the direction where the valet had disappeared to, waiting for him to bring Alex's car around.

She was so focused on watching out for her boyfriend's car that she did not notice the silver BMW with dark tinted windows parked a little ways down on the opposite side of the street.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

"Have you got the Master Key?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"Here," she said, passing the keycard to him.

He waved it in front of the sensor and pressed the button for the 38th floor. The lift moved quickly and smoothly upward. Once they arrived, they walked briskly over to the suite. He pressed the Master Key to the panel, a pleasant chirp signalling the door unlocking.

"Hurry up," he ordered, opening the door and ushering the rest of the crew inside. "They're at dinner now. We don't have much time."

Inside the suite, they each went about their tasks, moving the furniture in the living room so they could place the small electronic boxes out of sight. After each one was positioned correctly, the technician tested them all to make sure they were functioning properly.

It took them less than an hour to finish the job. Looking around the room, he smiled in satisfaction as another member of the crew watched their time.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Perfect," he nodded. "They're all hidden and out of sight. He won't even know they're there at first glance."

"He's sure got a lot of flowers in here," she remarked, looking at all the glass vases spread out in the suite, each one filled with expensive looking floral arrangements.

"It's Valentine's Day," he shrugged. "He's probably hoping he's in for a big night when he brings her back here."

"It'll be a big night, all right," she smirked.

"Absolutely," the man laughed. "All right, let's get out of here before anyone turns up."

They left quickly and quietly, closing the door to Matthew's suite behind them and disappearing into the elevator.

 **L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Covent Garden, London, England, February 2015**

Mary locked the stall and sat down on the covered toilet seat. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the handles of her purse, trying to slow her pulse and calm her breathing.

Everything about tonight had been perfect, and why wouldn't it be? She expected no less from Matthew. The food was delicious, the atmosphere luxurious and romantic. Their banter had been lively and delightful, save for Mary's panicked rant just now. She could only imagine what surprises lay in store for her back at his hotel room. Their first Valentine's Day as a couple was already a smashing success.

If only she didn't have to go and ruin it.

She slowly opened her purse and pulled out a small leather case. Clenching her teeth, she slowly opened the case and stared at the black Glock 36 pistol held within. Identical to the same gun she practised with at Downton Abbey. Brand new. Unused. No registration numbers. No markings. Virtually untraceable. The specially made silencer barrel sat in its moulded tray next to the gun, appearing almost elegant in its design and shape.

Mary closed the case and put it back in her purse. She closed her eyes and had to bite her fist to stop herself from gasping out loud. Her stomach lurched again and for a moment she thought her dinner might come back up. Eventually, her nausea abated, though she still felt very ill. And so she should, she thought.

She got to her feet and leaned her hand against the stall door, taking deep breaths before finally stepping out and heading over to the sink. Grateful that no one else was in the washroom with her, she splashed cold water on her face and dried herself with one of the linen hand towels placed nearby. Mary turned for the door quickly, not wanting to look at the mirror as she left the washroom and made her way back to Matthew.

 **Bob Bob Ricard Restaurant, Soho, London, England, February 2015**

Alex came back outside and returned to Anna, smiling smugly as he reached his hand out to her.

"Thy gloves, my lady," he said formally, bowing his head and handing her the almost lost leather gloves.

"Thank you, sir," Anna said haughtily. "You may have the privilege of putting them back on my delicate hands."

Alex rolled his eyes as Anna held out her hands to him in an exaggerated dainty pose. He eased each glove back across her fingers and over her wrist. Satisfied that they were on tight, he lifted her hands to his lips, kissing her them lightly.

"There," he said, releasing her one hand and holding on to her other. "Better?"

"Much," Anna nodded, grinning at him.

They would have kept staring dumbly at each other like teenagers but for, at that precise moment, the valet pulled up to the kerb in Alex's blue Mercedes. Squeezing Anna's hand, Alex moved forward and opened the passenger's side door for her. She stepped into the now familiar seat and smiled at him as he closed her door. Circling around the front of the car, Alex glanced down the street as he walked past the valet holding the car door for him.

"Have a good evening, sir," the valet said politely.

"Same to you," Alex nodded, handing the valet a £10 note and getting in behind the steering wheel. The valet closed the driver's side door and Alex looked out the window as he fastened his seat belt.

"Where to now?" Anna asked as Alex steered the car away from the kerb.

"I thought we were going back to yours," Alex said, checking his rear-view mirror.

"You're rather eager," Anna smiled, looking out at the frosted trees of Golden Square. "Dinner's over and now you expect to take me straight to bed, do you?"

"I was rather thinking of some tea and pleasant conversation, rather," Alex smiled. "But since you brought it up…"

Anna laughed and shook her head. Alex moved his hand over and rested it on her stocking-covered thigh.

"Mind the road," she scolded him, though she did nothing to remove his hand.

Alex turned on to the A4, keeping his speed steady. He glanced in his mirror again, then returned his eyes to the road ahead.

"Anna," he said, squeezing her thigh gently to get her attention.

"Yes?" she smiled at him.

"I want you to look in your mirror," Alex said. "There's a silver BMW about twenty metres behind us on your right that has rather unusually dark tinted windows. It's been behind us on your right since we left the restaurant. Don't turn around. Just see if you can spot the number plate. The first two letters are 'ED' but I can't make out the rest without taking my eyes off the road."

Anna frowned, then glanced over at the side mirror. Alex fiddled with the electronic controls on his door and adjusted the angle of her mirror to give her a better view.

"ED…12…looks like…MJL?" Anna said, staring at the mirror.

"ED12MJL," Alex nodded. "Text me that, would you, love?"

"Who do you think it is?" Anna asked as she sent the message from her mobile to his.

"Could be nobody," Alex shrugged, glancing in his mirror again. "But it never hurts to be cautious. Then again, it is Valentine's. Is there something you're not telling me? Do you have a jealous ex that I should be aware of?"

"Of course not!" Anna said indignantly, smirking as she glanced in the mirror again. "I already told my husband that I would be out late tonight."

Alex shook his head and turned off at the next street. He spent twenty minutes driving in a circuitous route well away from Anna's flat. He finally pulled over on a random street and shut off the engine, glancing around for any sign of the silver BMW.

"It seems we've lost them," he declared after several minutes. "Probably weren't following us anyway."

Anna glanced back as Alex started the car again. He returned his hand to her thigh as he resumed their drive. She covered his hand with hers, and held it there until they reached her place.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015**

"Have I ever told you how much I adore this scent?" Matthew asked Mary, kissing her neck as he held her close.

"It's Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, if you wanted to buy a bottle," Mary replied, looking at their reflection in the polished mirrors that surrounded them as the elevator rose to Matthew's floor. Coloured lights flashed over them from the video screens in the ceiling. They looked decadent, immaculately dressed, bodies pressed together, her dark eyes staring back at her.

"I just might do that," Matthew murmured, kissing the pulse point below her jaw. "So long as I get to choose where on your body it should be applied."

Mary normally would scold him for putting them in a potentially embarrassing position should anyone else come into the elevator. This time, though, she had no wish to dampen his enthusiasm. It was the least she could do, she thought. It felt wrong to enjoy his touch so much, but she was. She stopped being shocked by how much he affected her months ago.

"Is this a new dress?" Matthew enquired, his mouth so close to her skin she could feel his voice move through her.

"It is," Mary nodded, closing her eyes and leaning back against him. "Do you like it?"

"Very much, yes," Matthew said, his fingers running over the fabric across her stomach. "I can't wait to get you out of it."

"Naughty," Mary whispered, opening her eyes and kissing his cheek.

"I fully intend to be," Matthew smiled. He moved his hands away as the elevator doors opened on his floor. Tugging her gently to his suite, he unlocked the door with a wave of his keycard and walked her inside. Mary held on to him as they went, memorizing everything about his touch, the warmth, the weight, the feel of him. She wanted to remember him exactly this way – playful, mischievous, randy, lusting for her, the night and the rest of their lives full of promise, everything still possible.

Mary gasped as they came into the living room. The furniture was moved and rearranged and around the periphery, leaving a large open space in the middle.

"What did you do?" she asked, placing her purse on the side table and walking into the empty centre of the room. There were vases full of flowers scattered all around. The obligatory roses were included here and there, but the she saw peonies and stargazer lilies, bunches of alstroemeria and even orchids, in splashes of red, pink, champagne, lilac and white. Mary breathed in the beautiful fragrance, smiling as she slowly turned around to take in the entire room. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm glow over the floor, soft enough to be romantic, but not so low as to stop her from appreciating every beautiful detail. It was as though they were no longer in a hotel suite, but in some grand ballroom, just the two of them.

"The furniture was in the way, so I had the staff move it," Matthew smiled, watching her intently. He pressed his phone screen and music began playing, the notes flying all around them. Mary looked over at him inquisitively.

"Wireless speakers," he smiled, putting his phone down next to her purse. "They were installed while we were at dinner."

Matthew approached her and bowed his head formally. He held his arms out and smiled.

"May I have this dance, Lady Mary?" he asked.

Mary laughed in disbelief. Holding his expectant stare, she came into his arms. He held her right hand in his left, just out to the side, his right hand sliding around to the small of her back. She placed her left hand on his shoulder, not resisting as he drew her in close. Keeping his eyes on hers, he stepped to the left and turned her to the beat of the music, leading her slowly and confidently around the makeshift dance floor.

"Maxwell, _Pretty Wings_ ," she whispered as she recognized the ballad that they were moving to. She shook her head and looked up at his smiling face. "This isn't a coincidence, is it?"

"In what way?" he asked with false confusion, his smirk betraying him.

"I used to listen to this song constantly. That was years ago," Mary smiled. "Who told you? Sybil? Edith?"

"No one told me, thank you," he replied indignantly before smiling as though he knew an important secret. "It was actually rather easy. I learned early on that when you become obsessed with a song, you play it non-stop for days. I just remembered to make a note of them over the years, is all."

She swallowed and turned her head into his shoulder as his hand caressed her back. The song was almost six years old. He had heard her listen to it for perhaps a few days at most during Christmas of that year, if at all, and yet he remembered ever since.

"Have you recently improved at dancing?" she asked, smiling as she followed his easy stride. "Or is this another of your talents that I never bothered to notice?"

"Not a new talent, no," Matthew chuckled. "Mother felt that all young boys should know how to dance properly. I expect that I may have had just as many lessons as you did growing up, though I didn't put them to much use, admittedly."

"Why not?" Mary asked, still not looking at him. "You were at the Servants' Ball every year, and for our parties in the summer, in addition to whatever you got up to in Manchester. Surely you had plenty of chances to sweep unsuspecting young ladies off their feet?"

"Well, Sybil and Edith were always kind enough to partner me over the years," Matthew nodded. "However I never got around to asking you, so I thought tonight was as good a time as any to correct that oversight."

"And why didn't you ever ask me?" Mary asked quietly, looking up at him.

"For the same reason I never asked you out on a proper date," Matthew smiled sheepishly. "Too stupid, too scared. But, better late than never, don't you think?"

"I agree," Mary said, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder, letting him lead her wherever he liked as one of her favourite songs shifted into another.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2015**

"Are you all right?" Alex asked, closing the door and locking it.

"Of course I am," Anna nodded, removing her coat and hanging it up. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Alex said, removing his shoes and following her through to the kitchen. "I just want to make sure you know that you're safe."

"I know that," Anna smiled, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water.

"You could be forgiven for being a bit shaken, if we really were being followed tonight, that is," Alex said carefully, standing next to her as she poured them two glasses of water. "You might wonder who they were, what they want with us, what may have happened if they had caught up to us at some point."

"The Bimmer?" Anna frowned. "That was nothing. I've been working for Crawley Group long enough to know to stay on my guard."

"Yes, you have," Alex agreed, following her out to the couch in the living room. "That doesn't mean you ever get used to it, though."

Anna sipped her water as they sat down together. After a moment, she placed the glass down on the coffee table. Turning towards him, she reached out and touched her hands to his chest.

"Alex," she said. "I'm not some junior employee. I know what the company does. I know the truth about the family. I don't have to be coddled or protected. You don't need to worry about that."

Alex placed his own glass on the coffee table and pulled her closer, his forehead touching hers.

"I know," he whispered. "It's just that…I like to think that I'm able to protect you."

"You are, and you do," Anna replied. "And I quite like that you want to."

Alex leaned forward and kissed her softly, his hands moving to her waist and pulling her closer. Anna ran her hands into his hair, then leaned back until she was laying down on the couch, pulling him with her. He covered her body with his, his hand moving down and cupping her bottom, drawing one leg up and over his as his tongue caressed hers.

"If we were being followed tonight," he said quietly when they drew apart for air. "I'll find them, Anna. I won't let anything happen to you."

Anna nodded and kissed him again. Plans and strategies played through her mind. They could search the government vehicle registration database and use the number plate to find the owner of the silver BMW. If that person was hired to follow them, they could get him to talk and divulge the name of his employer. Perhaps this was related to the murder of Mr. Patrick somehow. Was his death part of a larger attack on the family and their associates? Was Green a part of a bigger conspiracy than he let on?

Alex pulled the strap of her dress across her shoulder and down her arm, kissing her skin as he uncovered more of her. Anna closed her eyes and held on to him. She had a lemon raspberry mousse cake waiting in the fridge for dessert, and his Valentine's Day present was hidden in the bedroom. She arched her back as his fingers found the zipper of her dress. Her plans for the evening and strategizing over their investigations could wait, she thought, as they moved to undress each other.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

"It seems that you enjoy dancing," Mary smiled, closing her eyes as he kissed her again. Her hand travelled down his front and boldly rubbed his growing arousal through his trousers.

"I enjoy dancing with you," Matthew corrected her, kissing his way along her jawline and moving to her neck. His arms pulled her in tighter to his body, his one hand moving down to caress her bottom.

"I had no idea that a mere dance with me could affect you this profoundly," Mary whispered, her pulse speeding up as their kisses grew more heated. The music continued in the background, Beyoncé's _Best Thing I Never Had_ now playing. They held each other close, kissing and touching, no longer dancing so much as they were swaying as one.

"You do affect me, Mary," Matthew growled. "You affect me a great deal. God, it's like you said that night when everything changed between us. I've always wanted you."

Mary kissed him again, darting her tongue past his lips, a moan flying from her throat as his mouth met hers eagerly.

"Don't you want your gift?" he struggled, swallowing as their kisses continued.

"I thought you were in the process of giving it to me," she teased, continuing to stroke him through the smooth fabric of his clothes.

"I do have a present for you, a proper present," Matthew said, kissing her lightly, then stepping away with a great effort. "Wait here."

Mary arched her eyebrow curiously as he backed away from her, a smug smile on his flushed face. He turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

She wandered over to the window, hugging herself as she suddenly felt cold from the loss of his warm embrace. The pleasant fragrance of the flowers came to her and she smiled. Everything about this evening seemed like the grandest of the grand, and yet perfectly intimate – the dinner, the flowers, the dancing, and now his mysterious gift. She closed her eyes and grimaced as the panic that had hit her throughout the week returned. She swallowed, trying to remain in the moment, thinking only of Matthew and ignoring everything beyond being with him in the present.

"Mary," he called softly.

She opened her eyes and quickly composed herself before turning around to face him. Her eyes widened in surprise as she found him holding a rather large package, wrapped in blue paper.

"No ribbon?" she joked, coming over to him.

"I'm afraid not," he smiled. "I'm hoping the gift itself will overcome any oversight in its presentation."

She smiled at him, taking the package from his hands and setting it down on the table against the wall. Pulling at a corner, she tore the paper away and blinked as an ornate antique picture frame was revealed. Mary looked over at Matthew in bewilderment. Matthew merely smiled back at her, nodding toward the frame for her to take another look.

She turned back and looked more closely. The frame contained a rather old looking document, but what did it have to do with them? And moreover, what made this a proper Valentine's Day gift? She read over the page, her eyes widening as she recognized words and names. Her pulse beat faster as she began to understand what she was looking at.

"Is this…what I think it is?" she asked quietly.

"A copy of the instrument that proclaimed that the title of the Earl of Grantham would pass to the eldest born son of the Earl, or the next male descendent, and that the Estate would be tied to the title in perpetuity" Matthew explained. "The original is still stored somewhere at Downton Abbey, but this was one of several copies signed by the sixth Earl, who entailed the Estate. I tracked it down at a library in York, and convinced them to sell it to me."

"And how did you do that?" Mary asked.

"I may have exaggerated my connection to your family," Matthew blushed.

Mary rolled her eyes and laughed.

"I don't think I've ever seen this," she said, reading the document more carefully.

"Well, there's no reason you would have. It's obsolete," Matthew smiled. "Entails were abolished with The Law of Property Act in 1925, but I thought it would be symbolic for you to have this just the same."

"Whatever for?" Mary asked. "Doesn't it belong in the family archives?"

"You can keep it as a reminder," Matthew said. "I know how important your family history is to you, and I think this helps show just how far you've come, just how much you've achieved, all on your own."

"It wasn't all on my own," Mary scoffed. "I've used the family name and Papa's money."

"Perhaps, in part," Matthew nodded. "But if the Crawley name and some money was all it took to be successful, then this document would never have been required in the first place. This entail would have sealed your fate in another era, Mary, for the mere reason that you'd been born a girl. But now, today, your future is entirely yours to shape."

"The document may be obsolete," Mary said quietly, touching the glass. "But the attitude remains to a degree. Women still aren't necessarily trusted in our family. If we were, Papa wouldn't have brought you here to come to our rescue."

"You don't need me to rescue you from anything. You don't need anyone. You're strong all on your own. You're the strongest woman I know," Matthew said softly.

Mary turned away from the framed entail and met his blue eyes. She reached her hand out and cupped his cheek, drawing him to her, their lips meeting in a warm kiss.

"Take me to bed," she whispered.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2015**

"What?" Anna grinned, blushing as she came out of the bathroom and looked at his dazed face.

"Nothing," Alex smiled, eyes still looking her up and down. "Just…you."

"What about me?" she asked, coming back to bed. He watched her as she approached, making her feel lightheaded. She never used to parade around naked, even when she was home alone. But she felt different doing it for him, especially for him.

"You're gorgeous," Alex said warmly, shifting over and making room for her. She leaned on to her side, her hand moving over his chest.

"You're being ridiculous," she shook her head, still smiling at him. "Give it a moment. I'll go back to looking quite ordinary soon enough."

"I've never found you ordinary, Miss Smith, not from the first moment we met," Alex said confidently, reaching out and caressing her cheek. "And when I say that you're gorgeous, I'm not just referring to your looks, I'll have you know."

She couldn't help but laugh and allow him a long lingering kiss. When he finally pulled back, she closed her eyes and relaxed against his shoulder, snuggling against his body and humming in bliss. She was practically purring, but she couldn't care how it sounded.

"Has it really only been a few months that we've been together?" she asked.

"Feels much longer…in a good way," Alex smiled, rubbing her back. "Are you as surprised as I am?"

"More, I expect," she laughed. "Oh God!" she groaned, covering her face with her hand.

"What is it?" he asked, amused by her behaviour.

"Nothing," she replied, stroking his stomach and avoiding his gaze. "It's just…in my whole life, I never thought I could be as happy as I am at this moment. Shit, now I sound ridiculous. You must be terrified."

Alex touched her chin, nudging her to turn and look at him.

"I love your honesty, Anna," he said softly. "And I'm not terrified. Not at all."

Anna gave him a brave smile, nodding before she settled back down against his body and closed her eyes.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015**

No one would ever call Lady Mary Crawley a sentimentalist. She appreciated the customs of Valentine's Day, but didn't see it as a celebration of love or anything so sappy as that. In the past, she met the day with annoyance, the small satisfaction of seeing Edith's jealous glare wiped out by having to deal with the cheap chocolates and garish roses she received from admirers that would all end up given to the servants or thrown in the bin by the next day. When she was older, on the rare occasions that she had a boyfriend on the particular day, her routine was a simple one. It involved an expensive dinner and a gift for her – flowers and jewellery usually – and cursory sex for the forgettable man in return. She did it out of duty, more than anything else, and she didn't think twice about it. She most certainly never bothered to wonder what any of it meant.

As Matthew slid her dress off her arms and down to her waist, she swallowed in anticipation. She tried to remain composed even as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, his mouth immediately closing on one breast, while his fingers played with the other. Rational thought was quickly being erased from her mind by searing desire. It wasn't as though Matthew was doing anything new that she had not experienced before, she told herself, trying to grab hold of logic in the face of the sensations coursing through her. No, he just did everything so damn better.

Her dress fell to her feet and she stepped out of it. His free hand moved down and past her panties, fondling her bottom as his tongue continued to dance across her breast. Her fingers played with his hair, urging him closer to the spot she desperately wanted him to touch. When his lips found it and suckled lightly, she groaned, loudly and freely.

Matthew released her long enough to turn her around. He gently pushed at her back, bending her over the bed as his hands slid her panties down. She kicked them loose and spread her legs for him, crying out and cursing as he pushed a finger inside of her from behind. He growled with satisfaction at discovering how aroused she was and added a second finger, making her shut her eyes and moan.

Mary tried to slow her hips and pace herself, but instead she arched her back and rode his hand faster. That was the difference with him. Before Matthew, she would lay back and think of England during sex, or participate just enough to get the act over with quickly so she could get on to something actually important. Matthew made her want, and crave, and think wanton thoughts that she was taught had no place in the mind of a proper lady. It was frightful and liberating all at once; how she wanted to be everything and anything with him. An innocent, a temptress, a queen, a whore, a partner. All the men from her past just wanted to fuck her body, so they could brag about their conquest. Matthew wanted to make love to her mind, to let her set the limits, or obliterate them completely, without fear or reservation.

His fingers found the precise spot inside of her that he was seeking, while his other hand moved between her legs. Her eyes shot open a second before he rubbed her inside and out and sent her flying, all thought of being quiet long forgotten as she moaned out her bliss.

She fell to the bed as he massaged her back. Catching her breath after several attempts, she turned over and sat up, looking up at him with flushed skin and dark eyes. Her hands attacked his belt, casting his trousers and boxer briefs off in turn as he removed his suit jacket, shirt and tie. She closed her eyes as she took him into her mouth, his long groan exactly what she wanted to hear. Tonight was about doing everything he wanted, her goal to shock and dazzle and bewitch him, give him the best sex he'd ever had and ever would have. For all the things she couldn't tell him, she would grant his every wish tonight. It was hardly a fair trade, but it was all she could give him, and she focused entirely on her objective, refusing to think of what would happen afterward.

Her eyes looked up at his face, pleased to see him watching her, enraptured. Let him see how much she was enjoying this, how much she wanted it. Let him remember her this way, eager, enthusiastic, entirely devoted to his pleasure. Let him know how much she cared for him in this moment, when they were alone, where titles and money and power didn't matter. Where they were just Mary and Matthew, and the rest of the world was far away.

Mary released him and kissed her way up his body, hugging him close, her breasts against his chest, her hips grinding into his. She pulled him back on to the bed, and he eased her on to her back, shifting himself between her spread legs, his eyes searching hers.

"Fuck me hard, Matthew," she whispered. "Please."

He lifted her legs, resting them on his shoulders, tilting her hips upward. She felt small, bared open, at his mercy, his hands finding hers and pinning them above her head as he leaned forward. He thrust deep and she shouted. He moved faster in response to her harsh and vulgar commands, every grunt and growl that she coaxed from him only leading to more scandalous words to fly from her lips. He had never seen or heard her act quite like this, and his blood raced from knowing that he could bring this out of her.

This was the Matthew she wanted tonight. She wouldn't be able to stand tender and considerate. She needed savage and dominant. It was insane to think that submitting to his desires would solve everything, or justify anything, but she yielded to him just the same. When he turned her over, she rose to her hands and knees and pushed back against him. When his fingers slid into her hair, she moaned in consent. When he moved to his back, she got on top of him, closing her eyes as she rocked back and forth.

Mary didn't count the number of times she spent, instead doing all she could to satisfy him and prolong his release. She chanted his name as he pushed inside of her over and over, her arms and legs wrapped around him, the heat and weight of his body on top of her.

Time didn't matter, even though she knew they were running out of it.

* * *

Mary slipped out of bed and walked quietly from the bedroom, the carpet masking the sound of her steps. She crossed the living room and took her purse from the side table. Sitting down on the carpet, she took a deep breath, then opened her purse. She put the gloves on first, the supple leather wrapping over her hands. Taking the gun and silencer, she wiped them with a cloth. This had to look professional, no fingerprints if the weapon was ever found. She glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to the bedroom and heard no sound. Matthew was still asleep.

She unscrewed the cap from the threaded end of the silencer, then fixed the silencer to the gun. She looked down the barrel to ensure the silencer was properly mounted, the cold feel of the metal such a sharp contrast to Matthew's warm skin that had just been beneath her fingers.

Mary closed her eyes and swallowed, trying desperately to clear her mind.

He won't feel a thing, she said to herself over and over. It'll be done in less than a second and he won't have any pain. Even the voice in her mind seemed not to believe the words.

Get dressed, leave the suite, casually walk to the elevator and down to the lobby, take a cab back to Grantham House as though she were never meant to sleep over. He wouldn't be discovered until the morning, and she would claim that he was asleep and very much alive when she left him.

Mary opened her eyes and remained still for several moments, trying to calm her breathing. The room felt cold, so different from the soothing heat of Matthew's body lying in the bed she had just left. She felt a slight itch along her neck where his lips had lingered, a dull ache across her breasts and down her legs from their lovemaking. His scent was on her skin, his taste on her lips and tongue. She shut her eyes again, trying to block all of it out, but it was useless. She would never be able to scrub him off of her after tonight.

Forcing herself to her feet, Mary turned for the bedroom, willing her sore legs to move. Collateral damage. That's all he was. The family had lost men before. Cousin James. Patrick. They lived in a cruel world and these things happened. She had to do whatever was necessary to stay on track for control of the company, to earn the position of power that she deserved. She had to forget Matthew; forget his blue eyes, his soft blond hair, his warm lips, his firm body. The way he looked at her differently than anyone else. The way he touched her, kissed her, made love to her. One more job to do and her scandal would be safe forever, her past no longer a threat, her future secured.

Mary took another step, then a glint of light caught her eye. She paused and looked over at the coffee table, the lights of evening London filtering in through the windows and reflecting off the glass of an antique picture frame.

Her breath caught as she saw the copy of the entail, the flickering lights of the London skyline blinking off of the glass. She stared at it for a long moment, transfixed by the combination of the sharp typed words and the flowing cursive script. Her lip quivered as she read the document again, her mind filled with images of Downton Abbey from another time, when the Earls of Grantham wandered the hallowed halls and toured the vast fields, when women wearing corsets and layered dresses paid calls and worked for charity and did the Season, stuck in a waiting room until they married, when a woman her age would already be committed to a life of having children, hosting parties, parroting her husband's opinions and nothing more.

Her hands shook and she set the gun aside, leaning on the table to remain upright. One hundred some-odd years ago, this piece of paper would have controlled her destiny. Her father would have married her off to the son of a fellow nobleman who would give her a position, and she never would have worked or held any authority or control of her own. She wouldn't have her own money, would be given an allowance to buy clothes every so often, and her husband would be paid a settlement when he married her, as though she was but a pretty thing to be sold off to the right buyer.

Mary tore her eyes away from Matthew's gift and picked up the gun again. She steadied herself, the tears brimming in her eyes, her pulse racing.

" _You don't need me to rescue you from anything. You don't need anyone. You're strong all on your own. You're the strongest woman I know."_

She looked at the dark doorway of the bedroom, where Matthew lay within. Matthew. Her childhood family friend. Her business colleague. Her lover. Her boyfriend.

The tears fell and Mary backed away, gasping as she tried to stifle her sobs. She reached for her purse and quickly disassembled the gun, placing it back in its case and hiding it with the gloves before putting her purse back on the table. She turned away and walked over to the window. Covering her mouth with her hands, she looked out on to the dark River Thames and shook as she cried, clenching her teeth and pursing her lips in a thin line, pushing the shame and remorse she felt back down into her stomach.

She didn't know if she stood there for mere minutes, or long hours, but she eventually stopped crying and her breathing returned to normal. Wiping her eyes several times, she swallowed, then returned to the bedroom unarmed.

Matthew lay in the same position she had left him, the duvet bunched across his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with his steady breathing. His arm lay splayed to one side of the bed, her side, his hand open, palm up, his fingers seeming to reach out for something to grasp, for someone to hold.

Mary removed her robe and came back to bed. She pulled the duvet over her bare shoulders and returned to his chest. Pausing over him for a moment, she watched him sleep, his face serene and beautiful, his lips parted, his head turned slightly towards her. She reached out and touched his cheek lightly, the warmth of his skin felt almost tangible against her fingers.

Mary nestled in to her usual place against his chest and shoulder, breathing in his scent. She closed her eyes as his hand moved across her back, his arm finding its customary hold around her. Her worries quieted and she fell asleep in Matthew's arms, refusing to think about what tomorrow would bring.


	11. Chapter 11

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

The tears fell and Mary backed away, gasping as she tried to stifle her sobs. She reached for her purse and quickly disassembled the gun, placing it back in its case and hiding it with the gloves before putting her purse back on the table. She turned away and walked over to the window. Covering her mouth with her hands, she looked out on to the dark River Thames and shook as she cried, clenching her teeth and pursing her lips in a thin line, pushing the shame and remorse she felt back down into her stomach.

She didn't know if she stood there for mere minutes, or long hours, but she eventually stopped crying and her breathing returned to normal. Wiping her eyes several times, she swallowed, then returned to the bedroom unarmed.

Matthew lay in the same position she had left him, the duvet bunched across his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with his steady breathing. His arm lay splayed to one side of the bed, her side, his hand open, palm up, his fingers seeming to reach out for something to grasp, for someone to hold.

Mary removed her robe and came back to bed. She pulled the duvet over her bare shoulders and returned to his chest. Pausing over him for a moment, she watched him sleep, his face serene and beautiful, his lips parted, his head turned slightly towards her. She reached out and touched his cheek lightly, the warmth of his skin felt almost tangible against her fingers.

Mary nestled in to her usual place against his chest and shoulder, breathing in his scent. She closed her eyes as his hand moved across her back, his arm finding its customary hold around her. Her worries quieted and she fell asleep in Matthew's arms, refusing to think about what tomorrow would bring.

 **Chapter 11:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

"Mary, your eggs will get cold," Matthew called out, scanning his mobile phone screen as he finished the last of his chocolate croissant.

"I have an idea," Mary announced as she came out of the bedroom and sat down at the dining table. While she was in the shower, all of the room's furniture had been moved back in place and their breakfast set out. She crossed her legs and unfolded her linen napkin, placing it neatly across her lap before she reached for her tea.

"I'm all ears," Matthew replied, his eyes wandering to her bare leg unveiled by the split in her robe.

"Why don't we take a trip?" she suggested, taking a croissant from the pastry basket.

"A trip? And where would you like to go?" he asked in amusement, setting his phone down and taking up his glass of orange juice.

"I don't know. Somewhere different. Tokyo. India. Brazil maybe. Anywhere but here, or New York, Paris, Rome, I don't want the usual places," she said.

"Someplace where one would not expect to find Lady Mary Crawley," he smiled.

"Exactly," Mary nodded, swallowing a bite of her eggs before continuing. "Just the two of us. No phones. No family. Only you and me."

"Spending our days exploring a foreign land," Matthew stated.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "I'm sure I can come up with plenty for us to do, no matter where we go."

"And the nights?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

Mary blushed and paused to swallow another forkful of eggs.

"Well, if you allow me to plan our activities during the day, I suppose it's only fair that I let you be in charge of what we do in the evening," she said, looking down at her plate.

Matthew chuckled and sipped his juice.

"You'll put yourself in my hands, will you?" he asked, his eyes bright and playful.

"Entirely," she said finally, looking back up at him defiantly, though her cheeks still felt quite warm. "Have I enticed you into considering it?"

"A little," he shrugged, grinning at her. "When would you like to go on this vacation? Spring? Summer?"

"Why not tonight?" Mary asked, her voice catching slightly. "We can forego the delay of reserving the family jet and fly First Class on whichever airline is most convenient."

"Tonight?" Matthew laughed. "You must be joking."

"No, I'm quite serious," Mary nodded. "We have our passports. We could be at Heathrow in an hour."

"What about packing? Notifying Alex and Anna?" he asked, still incredulous, but intrigued by her spontaneity.

"We can buy whatever we need when we reach our destination, and we can let Anna and Alex know when we get there," Mary said easily. "It's perfect, darling, don't you see? Everyone knows we're celebrating Valentine's and have left us alone for the weekend. We couldn't ask for a better chance to escape."

"That's true," Matthew nodded. "But Mary, we were just in Abu Dhabi a few months ago. You're in the midst of implementing your expansion plans, and we have the marketing campaigns for the Spring quarter that will be occupying a great deal of our time. We simply can't leave now. There's far too much going on, and I know your week is full of meetings that I am certain you cannot reschedule without causing much inconvenience."

Mary sighed in frustration. "You're right. Of course, you're right," she said softly. "I just…I just feel the need to get away, is all."

"Last night was supposed to help relax you," Matthew said, shaking his head.

"It did," Mary admitted, reaching out and touching his hand. "Last night was wonderful, darling. I suppose I'm just feeling a bit worn out. It seems that I've been going non-stop since we came back from Christmas break."

"You do have a lot to deal with at the moment," Matthew sympathized. "But you've always been good about multitasking. Everything will work out, as always. It just feels overwhelming because you're in the midst of it now, is all. You'll see. I am absolutely certain you'll emerge triumphant in the end."

Mary nodded and went back to eating her breakfast while Matthew returned to working something out on his phone.

 **London Thames Fencing Club, St. Paul's School, Barnes, London, England, February 2015**

Richard lunged forward, his sword arm extended, elbow locked and straight. His free arm was reaching back behind him for balance as he leaned into the attack. A loud beep sounded signalling the hit to his opponent's chest, and the two men straightened, saluting each other with a nod of their heads and a sweep of their blades.

"Point, blue," the referee announced. "Match to Sir Richard, 15 to 7."

Richard removed his mask and tucked it under his arm. He stepped down from the strip and handed his épée blade and mask to an attendant. Another servant helped remove his lamé vest and the connected wires and lines. Richard took a bottle of water from the side table and went over to the window, taking a long sip as he looked out at the snow-covered lawn.

"Well done, Sir Richard," an assistant said respectfully as he approached. "You're in fine form this morning."

"What did you find out?" Richard asked, not looking at him.

"Ah, well," the assistant replied nervously. "We weren't able to get into the hotel, actually. Mr. Crawley's floor is secured, you see, and he has private elevator access. Even room service and deliveries are left with a guard, who takes it up to the suite. Our men watched from outside the building and he never appeared throughout the day. Neither did Lady Mary, as it were…"

"And today?" Richard asked.

"Today, sir," the assistant said. "His car arrived at Crockfords at 9 o'clock this morning, although it was impossible to tell through the tinted windows if he was the driver."

"So you know nothing, then," Richard said coldly.

"Actually sir, he was spotted walking the casino floor at 10 o'clock, sir," the assistant said.

"You're certain it was him?" Richard asked, still looking out the window.

"Take a look for yourself, sir," the assistant said, handing the tablet to Richard.

Richard glanced at the tablet screen and the photograph of a man walking past a blackjack table. The blond hair, blue eyes, athletic build and tailored suit were unmistakeable.

"I see," Richard growled, throwing the tablet back at the assistant. "Very well, then."

Richard turned away from the window and went stalking over towards the change room.

"Your instructions, sir?" the assistant asked, scampering after him.

"Have the car brought around," Richard said, not looking back. "I'll deal with the rest of it myself."

 **Bitexco Financial Tower, 38th Floor, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, February 2015**

"Dinner time!" he called out as he brought several plastic containers and bags into the main office. Several heads popped up above their cubicles and smiled at the announcement. He moved over to the long table and set the containers and bags out in a row.

"Who had the imperial rolls?" he asked, looking at the workers now standing up at their desks.

Four hands shot up and he passed out the containers accordingly.

"Who ordered the _banh cuon_?" he frowned, looking at the container.

"What kind?" came the response.

" _Nhan thit_ ," he replied.

"That's mine," another man said, reaching his hand out and taking the container from him.

"Which leaves the _banh cuon cha lua_ ," he said, looking at the workers again.

"Mine," a hand waved above another cubicle.

He passed out the rest of the food, handed out the Cokes and coffees, and the chopsticks and napkins. Picking up the last bag of food and the last can of Coke, he carried them down the row of cubicles and over to the glass-walled office on the other side of the room.

"Dinner," he said as he knocked on the open door.

"Ah, lovely," she smiled, looking up from her monitor and rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

He set out the soup bowl on the desk and opened the containers of broth, noodles, raw beef tenderloin and other ingredients for her. He smiled as she combined everything in the bowl, immersing the meat in the steaming broth as he squirted the packets of Sriracha and Hoisin sauce into a small bowl for her.

"Mmm," she smiled, savouring a spoonful, then squeezing a lime wedge into the soup for flavour. "Perfect."

He opened the Coke and took a sip, taking a seat facing her large cherrywood desk. He smiled watching her eat, shaking his head at seeing such a prim and proper Lady voraciously slurping her soup with gusto.

"How is the special project going?" she asked, between spoonfuls.

"We're ready," he said. "We've narrowed the possible password permutations to a manageable number and we've got eight different algorithms. One of them should work. We know he leaves his computer on every night and checks his email remotely before going to bed around midnight. We have about a five-hour window until he wakes up in the morning when the network should be available to us."

She nodded, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "How many staff will you be assigning to this attempt?"

"I've got ten," he nodded. "We can't risk connecting any more stations than that at any one time. Should be more than enough, so long as what we're looking for is stored where we think it is."

"We'll soon find out," she said, glancing at the clock on her computer screen. "Make sure everything else is disconnected before we make the attempt. I don't want any cell phones, background programs running, active downloads, nothing. Keep the entire unit disconnected from our servers so there's no way to trace the signal back here. For that five-hour window, the office is dark. Clear out all personnel except those on the team."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, raising his drink to her. He got up from his seat and turned for the door.

"Jack," she called out.

"Yes?" he asked, looking back at her.

"This is our only shot at this. Don't fuck it up," she warned.

"We won't, Lady Rose," he said confidently. "We won't."

 **Penthouse of Patrick Crawley, Soho, London, England, February 2015**

"What does the family intend to do with the place?" Alex asked, following Matthew into the apartment and closing the door behind them. "It's been sitting empty for months."

"God knows," Matthew said, wandering down the long hallway and into the spacious living room. "It isn't as though they're in a hurry to sell it, or deal with it for that matter. It's all paid up and there's a trust for maintenance and taxes. In theory, it could stay like this for years. I doubt anyone would want to live here."

Alex wandered over to the window and looked out to the snow-covered rooftop patio. He turned away and looked around the room, frowning at the leather couch and glass coffee table.

"Here?" he asked, putting his messenger bag down on the floor.

"That's right," Matthew replied, following Alex's gaze, then turning away and heading over to inspect the bookshelves along one wall. "Edith's been quite brave about the entire thing. He'd been dead for a few days when she found him. The smell alone must have been horrible."

Alex shuddered for a second, then followed Matthew down the hall to the master bedroom.

"What are you looking for?" Alex asked as Matthew ran his hand along the frame of the dresser and mirror. "Didn't the company have a crew go over the place?"

"Of course they did," Matthew said easily, leaving the dresser and going over to the bed. He inspected the headboard, then looked up at the painting mounted above the bed.

"So why are we here, then?" Alex asked, raising his hands in question. "Anything that Patrick had of value would have already been accounted for."

"Anything of value that could be found in a conventional location, yes," Matthew said, circling the bed and wandering into the ensuite bathroom.

"They found his safe, Matthew," Alex reminded him as he came to the doorway. "There was nothing to indicate who his killer might be."

"Patrick would never keep anything important in a safe, Alex," Matthew said as he wandered around the bathroom, his head turning this way and that. "It's too normal. Patrick hated doing what was expected."

"I think you're giving him too much credit," Alex sighed. "Besides, what could he possibly have to hide that the family wasn't already aware of?"

"Patrick was smarter than many people ever gave him credit for," Matthew said, looking into the shower. "He was lazy, and careless, and had a very short attention span, but he was smart. He always had these mammoth scale schemes in his head, ways to make a name for himself, a big score of some sort, and he never shared any of that with the family. He wanted complete and total control over his own plans. Perhaps that's what got him killed – a grand plan gone wrong."

"And you think there will be some hint of this plan in the loo, do you?" Alex shook his head.

Matthew smiled wryly at his friend before resuming his inspection.

"There was no hint from anything we looked at that Patrick had something in the works. Nothing on his computer, his mobile, in his office, among his belongings, nothing. Mary said he spent weeks away from his desk, would sometimes not bother to even check in for days. What was he doing in all that time?" Matthew mused.

"Judging by what we know, snorting coke and banging hookers," Alex answered.

"Perhaps," Matthew acknowledged. "Or perhaps that's the image he wanted everyone to have of him."

Alex sighed as Matthew continued to move around the room.

"Another thing that people didn't know about Patrick was that he was actually an optimist, a dreamer," Matthew said. "He loved watching old gangster films and anything with fast cars and gorgeous women in it. I suppose that was always part of his problem. He fancied himself as a cross between James Bond and Hatchet Harry Lonsdale, but never wanted to do the work to become either."

"Not an uncommon characteristic for the privileged and wealthy who are always used to having their way," Alex nodded.

Matthew paused in front of the toilet.

Alex frowned at him.

"Have you ever seen _The Godfather_ , Alex?" Matthew asked, peering round the edge of the water tank.

"Yes," Alex replied, completely puzzled at what he was doing.

"The scene where Al Pacino kills Sollozzo and McCluskey in the Italian restaurant," Matthew said, lifting the lid of the water tank. "Remind me, where did he get the gun?"

"It was already planted in the…toilet…" Alex said, frowning as he looked at the sight of Matthew peering into the water tank.

Matthew set the lid aside and reached into the water tank. He unscrewed the float mechanism, pulled it apart and removed a small object.

"What is that?" Alex asked, stepping forward for a closer look.

Matthew held up an USB flash drive in the shape of a red and gold robot mask.

"It's Iron Man," Matthew smiled, handing the USB stick to Alex. "Patrick wanted to be Tony Stark too – a billionaire playboy superhero. I trust that you brought your laptop, as I asked?"

Matthew walked past him and back out into the apartment. Alex stared at the USB drive, then back at the toilet. He shook his head, then turned and followed after Matthew.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

"Anna, send these revised schedules to Edith, please," Mary said, clicking the mouse button and emailing the documents over to her assistant. "That should cover the first few months, at least. Where are we on the permits?"

"Lady Edith sent the first batch over. We have enough approvals to start. They're waiting for them to sign off on the design of the arboretum. Lady Edith thinks it'll be fine, it's probably that they haven't seen anything like that type of feature in a casino before," Anna's voice came through Mary's headset crisp and clear.

"Well, I should hope not," Mary smiled. "This will be unlike anything London has ever seen before."

Mary hung up the call and checked off the task on her calendar as being 'Completed', leaving a list that ran off the screen of tasks left to be done. She switched over to the second screen and scanned her emails, picking up where she left off from that morning. The expansion was taking up a great deal of her time and she was staying later and later at the office and still seemed to be falling behind on everything else. She and Matthew were planning a fresh advertising campaign in the Spring for all of their locations, to capitalize on the momentum they gained from the successful last quarter. All of the ads had to be approved by her, as Matthew wasn't nearly as particular about any of it. The first group of mock-ups looked too cheap and the second set was too sterile and cold. Mary was on to her fourth revision and still wasn't entirely pleased with what she saw. Each casino needed to be its own distinct brand, as the family didn't want the Crawley name to be mentioned much at all. Trying to strike a different tone for each ad, while still maintaining an overall standard of sophistication for the group as a whole was difficult. Mary felt she was chasing a moving target, with her own preferences and opinions changing daily, it seemed.

She looked from one computer monitor to another as her phone rang and the call display window popped up. Frowning, Mary clicked her headset to take the call.

"Yes, Anna?" she said.

"Mr. Murray is holding for you," Anna informed her. "Shall I put him through?"

"Yes," Mary nodded. "What could he want?"

"Lady Mary," Murray said formally.

"Murray," Mary replied politely. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you," the company's lawyer stated. "Lady Mary, I'm calling to inform you that we received the appeal materials from the other side. They're quite voluminous."

Mary closed her eyes and sighed, leaning back in her leather chair. She knew that Phil's lawyer had to file his documents shortly, but hearing confirmation of it only reminded her that there was yet another Court battle looming.

"I'm sure that it will make for interesting reading," Mary said, opening her eyes and scowling at the computer screens. "I'm always up for a good piece of fiction."

"I'm having the materials scanned and will email them to you when ready," Murray said. "Hard copies will follow by courier. How many sets would you like?"

"Three," Mary answered. "One for our file here, one for me to mark up, and another for Mr. Crawley to review, though he'll probably just stick to the PDF version."

"Very well, Lady Mary. I've diarized the dates for preparation and delivery of our responding materials. I should have a draft of the factum for you by the end of next week," Murray said.

"Fine. Good day, Murray," Mary said, hanging up the call.

She took off her headset and placed it back on its cradle. Sighing, she drummed her fingers on the glass desktop, staring over at the wall where the framed Grantham Estate entail hung at eye level. She knew the appeal was coming. Phil had filed the required notice within a month after the trial decision went against him. Still, there was a certain finality about actually receiving the briefs and documents that made up the actual argument. It was real now. They would be going to Court in a few months and she would have to go through the entire ordeal again. Normally, the intervening time would provide an opportunity to settle the matter, but their victory at trial had only made her father more entrenched in his position and more obstreperous. Lord Grantham wasn't even willing to offer Phil the same deal they had put forward before. Though she believed in their chances, this was yet another nagging concern that Mary did not need with everything else happening in her life.

She rose from her chair and walked out of the office, turning toward the lift.

"I'm going down to walk the floor," she said as Anna came out of her office.

"I was just going to come tell you," her assistant said. "Lord Gillingham's just arrived. He's at his usual table."

"Fine," Mary nodded, heading for the elevator. "He and the others can wait until I'm done my walk."

 **Penthouse of Patrick Crawley, Soho, London, England, February 2015**

Alex watched as the data from Patrick's USB drive loaded on to the screen. He frowned at the sparse number of files.

"They're financials," Alex said, clicking open several spreadsheets and documents. "From the past few fiscal years. Nothing scandalous."

Matthew reached over to the keyboard and opened the file list again. He stared at it for several moments, holding his fingers to his lips in contemplation.

"See if there's any hidden files," he said.

Alex changed the preferences on the laptop and three hidden and read-only files were added to the list on the laptop screen.

"They're just the usual system files," Alex said.

"Or so it would appear," Matthew said. "The size of each one is too big to be just system files that run in the background. Patrick could have changed the file extensions to make them appear that they're something that they're not. Try opening them with different programs."

Alex nodded and went to work. He tried renaming each file with different extensions to see whether the data was in fact hidden as a system file. Changing them to a Word document only resulted in gibberish across the screen. He tried running them as execution commands and they would not open. Finally, he changed the largest file into a video format and opened it with a media player.

The screen flickered as an image popped up of an opulently decorated bedroom. The scene began to play and Ethel Parks walked into the camera shot, wearing a very short skirt and high heels.

"Fucking hell," Alex muttered. "He filmed them?"

"I'm sure it wasn't the first time," Matthew shook his head.

"Do you like the dress?" a voice from off-camera asked.

"Oh yes, thank you," Ethel nodded sultrily.

"Okay, we really don't need to watch this," Alex rolled his eyes and moved the mouse pointer to close the window.

"Wait," Matthew frowned, touching Alex's shoulder. "That wasn't Patrick's voice."

"Can you do something for me?" the voice asked.

"Anything," Ethel giggled coquettishly. "Just name it."

"I want you to wear this," the voice said firmly.

Ethel nodded and a dark brown wig was thrown at her. She put it on and adjusted it, the slightly curly locks coming just past her ears.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Yes, perfect," the voice said.

"What else would you like me to do?" Ethel asked, turning her head as her client moved away from the camera.

"Tonight, I want you to call me 'Sir'" the voice ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Ethel replied, licking her lips.

"Very good," the voice replied. "Call me Sir, and I'll call you Mabel."

Matthew blinked as the client came into the frame and grabbed Ethel roughly. The shorter woman moaned as he pressed her to his tall body and kissed her.

"That's not Patrick," Alex said quietly as he watched Ethel turn around and raise her arms as the tall man undressed her.

"No, it's not," Matthew frowned. "That's Tony Foyle, also known as Lord Gillingham."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

Mary came into the high limit room, chin raised, eyes sharp. She could feel numerous sets of eyes lift up from the tables and glace over at her. She walked to a baccarat table on the far side, not making eye contact with anyone on the way. It was a well-practised routine by now. The high rollers all knew when she arrived, and all of them waited their turn before she came to see them.

"Nakata-san," she bowed her head, smiling at the large Japanese man who bowed his head in reply. "Still on Tokyo time, yes?"

"Indeed, Lady Mary," the man laughed. "It is early evening back home, when I am always at my best."

"Well, don't be too hard on us," Mary smiled. "Please enjoy this bottle of Dewatsuru Hihaku, with my compliments."

A server brought forth a silver tray holding a black bottle and an ornately decorated sake cup. She deftly placed the cup in front of Nakata and poured his drink. Smiling in appreciation, the large man raised his cup to Mary and took a slow sip, nodding in approval. Mary smiled and took her leave.

"Mary," Tony said, rising from his chair as she reached his table.

"Tony," Mary smiled, accepting his kiss to her cheek and patting his arm. "Welcome. And you've brought a friend?"

"Charles Blake," Blake smiled, rising from his chair and taking Mary's hand.

"Lady Mary Crawley, Vice-President here at Crockfords," Mary nodded. "I trust you are enjoying your time with us?"

"Very much so, Lady Mary," Charles nodded. "I'm sorry to say that Mr. Kent has been rather stingy as of late though."

Mary smiled at the dealer, who was looking down at the table and remaining still. "Well, we can't make it too easy for you, can we? Stay long enough and I'm sure your luck will change. Tony, may I have a word?"

"Of course," Tony smiled. He followed Mary away from the table, all thought of the game and Blake abandoned as he trailed after her.

"Who is Mr. Blake? How do you know him?" Mary asked, once they were in a private corner outside the high limit room.

"He's a friend of Mabel's," Tony replied. "I know him from a past life. We served in the Navy together."

"Ah," Mary said. "And you're renewing acquaintances over poker, are you?"

"Something like that," Tony replied. "Was that all you wanted of me?"

"I like to know everyone who comes into the high limit room, Tony, you know that," Mary answered. "Is he playing on his own tab, or yours?"

"On mine," Tony said.

"That's rather generous of you," Mary smiled.

"What's rather generous of him?" a voice asked.

Tony looked away from Mary and nodded politely as he greeted the new arrival to their conversation. "Matthew," he said respectfully.

"Tony," Matthew nodded in return, keeping his expression neutral. After what he saw on that video that they found in Patrick's apartment, he was seeing Lord Gillingham in a completely different light than before.

"Darling," Mary smiled, leaning over and kissing Matthew's cheek. "Tony's brought a friend to come visit us this afternoon."

"Has he?" Matthew said, looking into the high limit room. "Who would that be?"

"Charles Blake, an old acquaintance," Mary said sweetly, bating her eyelashes at him. "He's friends with dear Mabel as well."

"I see. Well, perhaps I'll come and introduce myself before you go," Matthew said to Tony.

"Please do, Matthew," Tony replied. "I'd best get back to it. Mary."

"Tony," Mary smiled at him politely as Lord Gillingham nodded to her and went back into the room.

"Foyle's here rather early," Matthew said, watching him go.

"Not necessarily. He does most of his work at night, you know that," Mary said dismissively, resuming her business voice. "Did you find anything at Patrick's?"

"Maybe," Matthew answered as they turned to head back upstairs. "I left it with Alex to see. What was this appointment that you put into my calendar for this Friday?"

"It's a surprise," Mary grinned. "I'll give you a hint though. It involves Edith and Sybil and a few of our friends, and a great deal of alcohol."

"Sounds like a typical Friday night with the Crawley sisters," Matthew laughed as they reached the lift.

 **The Grape & Grain Pub, Crystal Palace, London, England, February 2015**

William crossed the street, his hands buried in his pockets. He moved along the line of parked cars and got in on the driver side of a white Range Rover.

"He's inside, having a pint with some of his mates," William declared, locking the doors.

"Good," Alex said from the back seat as he looked out the window at the silver BMW parked down the street. "Did you get a good look at them?"

"I did," William nodded, looking at Alex in the rear view mirror. "Right mean looking lads, they were. Have a look for yourself."

William passed his mobile back to Alex. Alex took it and scrolled through a series of photographs taken from inside the pub.

"How did you take these without being noticed?" Alex asked in surprise. "They're practically posing for you in some of them."

"I pretended to be having a fight with me Dad over the phone," William said sheepishly. "I turned away from their table and took the photos with the phone on my ear."

"Very ingenious of you, William," Alex smiled as he swiped through the photos with his finger.

Daniel Tom, the owner of the silver BMW, was a young man who lived with his parents in Stevenage. A search using the number plate Anna had seen when they were followed on Valentine's Day had revealed both Tom's name and address in the small town north of London. After a lengthy argument, Alex had convinced Anna that neither one of them could go and track the driver down since they both could be recognized. They put a tail on Tom for a few days, and found that he came into the city and visited The Grape and Grain each night. Following another argument where Alex had to explain to Anna that she still could not go with them for fear they both could be spotted, it was then decided that William would be the perfect accomplice, watching Tom inside the pub while Alex placed the GPS tracking device on the car.

As Alex looked through the photographs, he hoped he would find something useful. He didn't really want to interrogate Tom, particularly since they still did not have any concrete evidence that he was following them. He couldn't very well abduct the boy only to find out it was just a coincidence that he was parked outside the restaurant that night. More importantly, Anna had kicked Alex to the couch for the past two nights, and he needed some positive news to get back into her good books.

Alex frowned as he came upon one photograph in particular of Tom deep in discussion with three other men. Pressing his fingers to the screen, he zoomed in on one of Tom's companions, examining what appeared to be a dark mark on the back of the man's right hand.

"Get us out of here, William," Alex ordered, handing the mobile back to him.

William started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. Alex covered his face as they drove past the pub and glanced back as William continued on down the road. After several minutes of silence, Alex took out his mobile and dialled.

"Did you find out anything?" Anna asked as she picked up his call.

"I did," Alex replied, not bothering to point out that she hadn't even said hello to him, but then again, neither had he to her. "Have someone monitor the GPS signal. I don't want anyone to follow young Daniel until we have a few firm locations to scout. Just note where he goes and when, for now."

"All right. I'll put Gwen on it," Anna said. "Why don't you want to have him followed? Still not sure about him?"

"No, I'm quite sure about him," Alex answered. "We're on our way back. I'll explain when I get there. Bye."

"Bye," Anna hung up the call.

Alex frowned and looked out the window, myriad thoughts going through his mind.

"Mr. Lewis?" William asked from the front seat. "What is it? What did you see in them photographs?"

"You were quite right when you said Daniel Tom was meeting with some rather mean looking characters, William," Alex said, checking on his mobile that the GPS tracker on the BMW was broadcasting clearly. "One of the men had a tattoo on the back of his hand. If you look closely at the photograph, you'll see it's a black double-headed eagle."

"A double-headed eagle, sir?" William repeated in confusion.

"Yes," Alex said. "The black double-headed eagle, in case you weren't aware, is the symbol for the sovereign state of Albania. Young Mr. Tom's companions are members of the Albanian Mafia, which means it was no coincidence that Mr. Tom's car was following Anna and I on Valentine's Day. He's their driver. They had us under surveillance."

"But for what purpose? What would the Albanian Mafia want with the two of you?" William asked.

"Damned if I know," Alex muttered as the Range Rover wound its way back to Crockfords.

 **Hyde Park, London, England, February 2015**

Mary breathed out and sprinted past the Achilles statue, weaving her way past tourists and back up into the park. The air was crisp and cold, but not uncomfortable. Winter temperatures in London did not often fall below freezing, and today was sunny and moderate, the perfect day for a run.

Having Crockfords and The Colony Club located so close in proximity to Hyde Park allowed her to have a daily jog whenever she could fit it in. She used to go out in the mornings before work, sometimes coaxing Anna out with her. Since spending her evenings with Matthew though, she took her exercise in the gym of the Shangri-La more often than not. Today was a ridiculously busy day, but with Matthew out with Alex and no meetings scheduled for the rest of the afternoon, Mary managed to steal away to clear her head.

She smiled as a particularly fast song played through her headphones. Besides horse riding at Downton, running was her favourite sport. It allowed her to escape, to simply lose herself in the workout, her blood flowing, her mind calm and at ease. No one recognized her. No one wanted to talk to her or make demands on her time. She barely even acknowledged the other runners that she passed in the park. Running gave her a brief hour of beautiful solitude. She didn't need to worry about the company, the expansion, the appeal, the sudden appearance of the Albanians, or anything else. All that mattered was running.

She reached the end of her last lap and slowed her pace, taking deep breaths as she came to the Joy of Life Fountain and Park Lane. Finding a quiet spot near the gate, she lifted her leg and stretched her quadriceps, watching the crowds move about, tourists taking selfies and Londoners getting on with their day.

Mary swallowed and blinked as she noticed a black Rolls Royce Phantom saloon car parked at the kerb. The driver stood on the pavement, watching her from behind dark sunglasses. Her stomach lurched as the tinted window opened slightly and steely blue eyes beckoned her over. She glanced about, then walked calmly to the car. It wouldn't do to avoid it. He would just track her down somewhere else, and at least this was a public place, with plenty of witnesses about.

"Lady Mary," the driver nodded, touching his cap as he opened the door for her. Mary walked past him and got into the car, the door closing ominously behind her as she sat down on the leather seat.

"Good run, my dear?" Richard asked, smiling at her. "Rather invigorating, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mary nodded, looking at him carefully. "It was quite nice."

"I'm glad that I was able to catch you," Richard said easily, taking out a tablet computer and passing it to Mary. "I wanted your opinion on a story that will be running in tomorrow's papers."

Mary's pulse jumped as she looked at the screen. She clenched her teeth as a rather unflattering paparazzi shot of her was set next to a photograph of Bernie Madoff being escorted into jail. The headline screamed in large bold print – "THE LADY LOSES! – Grantham heiress flushes away fortune on Madoff scheme".

"I thought the subtitle was a bit long," Richard said lightly. "I do like the alliteration though. 'Flushes away fortune' has a nice ring to it."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Mary said tightly.

"No, you shouldn't be," Richard said firmly. "I never go back on my promises, Mary. Every action, or in your case, inaction, has consequences."

Mary's phone buzzed suddenly and she jumped slightly. She ignored it and continued to look at the front page mock-up on the tablet screen, her anger rising.

"Why don't you answer that?" Richard asked. "You never know. It may be important."

Mary blinked and looked at him suspiciously. Richard nodded to her, his eyes cold and menacing.

Mary took out her phone, not recognizing the number. She put her headphones back on and answered the call.

"Lady Mary Crawley speaking," she said formally.

"Good afternoon, Lady Mary," a male voice said. "This is Maxwell Wynne at Freshfields. Do you have a moment?"

"Yes," Mary said, glancing over at Richard. "How may I help you, Mr. Wynne?"

"We act for Sheikh Mohammed with respect to some of his business ventures here in London," Mr. Wynne said. "I have instructions to notify you that his group of investors are exercising their termination rights under the agreement with Crawley Group that you signed in Abu Dhabi in November. We'll send written notice shortly to your office, but he wanted us to call you directly to let you know."

"I beg your pardon?" Mary blinked. "Why would they be terminating? We just reported to them last month with respect to our progress on the expansion and there was no indication they weren't entirely satisfied with our work."

"Recent developments have changed their mind, Lady Mary," Mr. Wynne said indifferently. "They are no longer interested in doing business with you or with your company. In the interest of making this as efficient as possible, they are allowing you to keep the funds paid to date, and we trust you will make no mention of Sheikh Mohammed's name or that of his fellow investors with respect to your operation going forward."

"Surely if I could speak to Sheikh Mohammed, I could clarify any misunderstanding," Mary said, desperately trying to recover. "I can be in Abu Dhabi by tomorrow morning, or we can have a video conference at his convenience…"

"The group's decision is final, Lady Mary. Good day," Mr. Wynne said curtly, hanging up without allowing Mary another word.

Mary stared at her phone in shock before resuming her stoic demeanour and straightening her posture. She turned back to Richard, her lips pursed.

"The world is terribly unpredictable, isn't it, Mary?" Richard smiled. "Everything seems so golden one minute, then turns to ashes the next."

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"Why, nothing," Richard smiled. "I merely had a chat with an old friend about some of the investments his superiors had made recently. He was rather alarmed about certain rumours regarding a company that his bosses had recently gone into partnership with."

It took a great effort for Mary to show no reaction.

"He was a bit concerned, you see, about this new ally when he learned that the former Managing Director was involved in drugs and prostitution prior to his untimely death. I personally wouldn't think it should have any bearing on business, of course, but the men that my friend works for are terribly old fashioned, I'm afraid. They place a great deal of importance on image, you see, and they like to believe that they are dealing with good people, who are God fearing, law abiding citizens. Any sin at all is considered a bad omen, you understand."

"Ironic that they allow their employees to count you as a friend, then," Mary retorted.

"So sassy," Richard laughed. "Even now."

"What do you want, Sir Richard?" Mary asked bitterly.

"You know exactly what I want," Richard snapped, his face morphing into a scowl. "Do what you are bound and committed to do, Mary! No more delays. No more excuses. I don't want to hear a damn thing about how you need more time to plan, or how there were too many witnesses about, or how Matthew Crawley fucked you so hard that you were too weak to carry out your task!"

Mary narrowed her eyes at his profane rant, not flinching in the face of his attack.

"I'll give you until Friday night," Richard said tightly. "If I wake up on Saturday morning and Matthew Crawley is still alive, I will not only publish, I'll also carry out any and every act of retribution that I deem fit. No one will be safe. Your mother, your sisters, I will show you what happens to those who dare cross me."

Mary frowned in disbelief.

Richard leaned towards her.

Mary recoiled slightly.

"Always a pleasure to see you, my dear," Richard whispered, kissing her cheek. "Have a wonderful day."

Richard tapped on the window and the driver opened Mary's door for her. She pulled herself out of the car slowly and stepped back from the kerb. The Rolls Royce drove away down Park Lane and Mary ran in the opposite direction, her stomach cramping up the entire way back to Crockfords.

 **The Lodge Private Room, All-Star Lanes, Bayswater, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew looked around the hall sceptically, taking in the flashing lights, loud dance music and teenagers cackling and drinking without a care in the world.

"Can I help you, sir?" a large woman behind the counter asked him, smiling at his tailored suit.

"He's with us," Alex said, coming over carrying a pair of strange multi-coloured shoes in one hand. "Here you are," he smiled, handing the shoes to Matthew. "Come on. They're in the back in the private room."

"Thanks," Matthew frowned, taking the red, white and blue bowling shoes and following Alex through past the public lanes. "And what are you doing out here?"

"I told them I would keep an eye out for you," Alex shrugged.

"You didn't want to be stuck in there with them," Matthew smiled.

"They do enjoy their bowling," Alex admitted. "They can be rather competitive."

"I can well imagine," Matthew laughed. "Anything come up on the Albanians?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Alex smirked.

Matthew came into the private room and smiled in amusement at the sight. The place was designed to look like a hunting lodge, complete with wood panelling everywhere, plaques of dead animal heads and fake skins mounted on the walls, black leather banquettes and, of course, a fully stocked bar and two bowling lanes. Sybil and Edith were bowling, Anna was at the bar with some of their girlfriends, and Mary was surveying everything, drink in hand.

"Just another Friday night with the Crawley sisters," Matthew remarked as pop music played from the overhead speakers.

"Ah, darling! There you are!" Mary grinned, coming over to him. She gave him her drink to try and he took a sip, his arm going around her waist. Alex smiled and left them alone to go back to Anna.

"Singapore Sling?" Matthew smiled, handing the drink back to her. "Rather too sophisticated a drink to go with bowling, isn't it?"

"Don't worry, it's just a starter," Mary smiled, kissing him quickly. "You're rather overdressed, aren't you?"

"Well, no one bothered to tell me that we were bowling so I came straight from work," Matthew said, looking at her accusingly. He smiled as he took in her red sleeveless top and dark navy designer skinny jeans.

"Must have slipped my mind," Mary said, raising her eyebrows innocently. "Let's see if we can't get you sorted."

She placed her drink down on the nearby table. Matthew watched as she turned back to him, keeping eye contact while a playful smile graced her lips. She slid her hands under his jacket and across his shoulders, pushing the garment off his chest and down his arms. After placing the jacket on a chair, her fingers found his tie and slowly undid it, her eyes again remaining on his all the while.

Matthew swallowed as she deftly popped the top button of his shirt, and the next, her fingers barely touching his skin as she parted his collar and bared his neck. Moving down to his wrist, she undid his cufflink and rolled his sleeve back up his forearm to the elbow, repeating the same slow attention to his other arm. He felt her arm snake around his waist as she drew closer, her breath against his cheek as her other hand ghosted between them to brush along his thigh.

"There," she said, her voice a low whisper in his ear. "Now you look ready for action, don't you?"

Matthew blinked as she gave him a light squeeze then stepped away to grab her drink again.

"Matthew! You're here!" Sybil squealed, coming over and giving him a hug. "Good! Now we can have a proper game!"

"You're in a pleasant mood," Matthew smiled at the youngest Crawley sister.

"It's Friday night," Sybil laughed, stepping away from him taking a swig of her beer.

"Phone off, Matthew," Edith ordered, opening her bag and holding it out to him. Matthew smiled as he saw that she seemed to have confiscated everyone's mobiles.

"Better do what she says," Mary teased. "We've made Edith the keeper of the phones. No calls, texts, emails, games or browsing of any kind allowed inside the Lodge."

Matthew laughed and turned off his phone, adding it to the collection in Edith's bag.

Unsurprisingly, it was soon declared that the women would form one team against Matthew and Alex, with the losers having to do shots of the winning team's choice. While the boys were outnumbered, the fact that the girls had started drinking before Matthew arrived played into his favour. It all became a moot point by the third game, as everyone did shots regardless of who won, and Mary ended up vetoing the choice of drink whenever she saw fit, which was practically every round. While Matthew and Alex won the first three games, it all fell apart soon after, as Sybil would jump up and bowl even when it wasn't her turn and Alex became far more interested in flirting with Anna than paying attention to the game.

So it was that Matthew found himself reclined on one of the banquettes, Mary nestled against his shoulder, watching lazily as the others took over the lanes. Bowling was soon abandoned by everyone except Sybil and some of her friends, though everyone still participated enthusiastically when it came time for shots of alcohol.

"Are you falling asleep on me, Lady Mary?" Matthew teased, kissing the top of her head.

"Of course not," Mary said indignantly, shifting further against his chest and neck. "I'm merely resting my eyes. I'm perfectly entitled after the week I've had."

"You'd do well to keep your faculties about you. A scoundrel might try and take advantage of you in your drunken state," he smiled.

"What would your mother think if she knew what a dirty mind her precious Matthew has?" Mary asked, smiling as she hugged him closer.

"She would be aghast, but nowhere near as shocked as your Granny would be to hear the scandalous words that come out of your mouth in the throes of passion," Matthew said quietly, pinching her side playfully.

"Keep that up and you'll get nothing but the silent treatment from me for quite a while," Mary retorted.

"I win!" Sybil declared, hopping over to where they sat. "Come on, Mary! Time for vodka!"

Mary opened her eyes and sat up, rubbing her forehead lightly. "Bloody hell," she muttered as she let Sybil help her to her feet and lead her over to the bar.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

"Mmm, you smell ever so nice, Mr. Crawley," Mary slurred, kissing his neck as he carried her into the suite.

"Yes, you said that about a dozen times or so already," Matthew smiled, setting her down gently, then lifting each foot to remove her heels. She leaned against him, doing very little to assist him as he basically dragged her into the living room.

"I think," Matthew said, giving up and lifting her off the ground again. "We should put off anymore Friday nights with your sisters for a while. I thought Sybil was a mess, but you aren't too far off."

"Don't you like me this way?" Mary grinned, her eyes half-closed. "Easy? Compliant? Uninhibited and completely vulnerable to you?"

"I'd also like it if you were lucid, and I doubt you'll be able to stay awake once your head hits the pillow," Matthew laughed.

"Then have me against the wall," Mary drawled. "Or pressed against the window. What about in the shower? You do enjoy taking me in there, don't you?"

She tried to kiss his mouth but missed and ended up smearing her lipstick across his jaw as her head lolled against his shoulder.

"You have me aflame with desire, darling," Matthew rolled his eyes, setting her purse down on the side table and carrying her through to the bedroom.

"Let's make mad, passionate love, Matthew," Mary said breathlessly. "Any position you want. Make me yours, you gorgeous man!"

Matthew shook his head and smiled, taking her into the bathroom. He set her down and leaned her against the sink. Reaching around her, he ran the water and soaked a washcloth. He rubbed Mary's face with it, wiping across her eyes several times, which only resulted in her half-closed lids opening slightly wider.

"Do you think you can manage on your own now, darling?" he smirked at their reflection in the mirror as he unzipped her top. "Go on and get ready for bed and I'll come and collect you in a moment."

Mary sighed and nodded, then reached for her toothbrush. Matthew watched her sway for a moment, then satisfied that she wouldn't keel over, he left the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

Mary wandered the opulent rooms of Downton Abbey. The place didn't feel like home, for some reason. She went through the parlour, the sitting room, the music room and even the Great Hall. All the furniture was gone. The tapestries and paintings were all taken down. The grand rooms sat empty and abandoned.

"Hello?" she called, frowning as she looked around for some sign of her family. "Mama? Papa? Carson? Where is everyone?"

She came outside and found a lavish Garden Party in full swing. The guests were all dressed in their finest summer outfits, servants carrying canapés and champagne flutes on silver trays, a small orchestra playing delightful music under a bright sun. She wandered about, drawing strange stares from the guests, who seemed to whisper to each other as she went past. Alarmed at this strange behaviour, Mary finally saw her family gathered beneath one of the white tents and went over to them quickly.

"Mama? Why is everyone acting so strangely? And why is the house so empty?" she asked.

Cora looked up from reading her newspaper and scowled at Mary with her patented look of disapproval. She merely shook her head and turned away.

"Mama?" Mary frowned. "Papa? What is…"

The Earl of Grantham sneered at her, then tucked his newspaper under his arm and stomped away.

Mary didn't have time to call out before Sybil and Edith followed their mother after Lord Grantham. With her family gone, Mary looked around for someone else to talk to. She didn't recognize any of the guests or the servants. Finally, she saw a familiar figure standing by the bench under the large oak tree a short ways away.

"Matthew!" Mary called, running over in as dignified a fashion as she could manage. "Matthew! Thank God! I don't know what's going on, but we need to…"

She froze when she reached his side. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were damp from crying. He glared at her, finally throwing a newspaper in her direction.

"How could you, Mary?" he choked out. "I thought I knew you, but after learning about this, I…"

He shook his head and began walking away.

"Matthew!" Mary cried, reaching out to him. "Stay, please! You can't leave! What about us?"

Matthew stopped and slowly turned around. "You've shown me I've been living in a dream, and now it is time to return to real life," he said simply, then turned his back once more and walked away.

Mary clenched her teeth as a sob rose up from her throat. She looked down at the newspaper clenched in her hands and read the headline.

"THE LADY LOSES! Grantham heiress flushes away fortune on Madoff scheme".

"I've ruined everything," Mary whispered, falling to her knees.

* * *

Mary gasped and her eyes shot open. She blinked several times, adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom. She felt the warmth of Matthew's body lying next to her and the softness of the duvet covering them. Breathing deeply, she waited several moments for her vision to clear and her pulse to slow down to normal before she slowly sat up and brought her legs over the edge of the bed until her feet touched the plush carpet.

Mary looked over her shoulder at Matthew. She could barely make him out in the black of the room, but she could feel his presence, hear his breathing. Minutes passed as she sat there just looking at where he lay. They hadn't made love when they got back to his suite. Her addled brain vaguely remembered that she had barely managed to brush her teeth and undress before the bathroom seemed to spin and she had to lean against the sink to stop herself from falling. Matthew had appeared soon after with a bottle of water that he had insisted she drink. He escorted her to bed, and she had buried herself under the covers wearing nothing but her boy shorts. When she woke again during the night to use the bathroom, Matthew was already asleep, spooning behind her, his arm across her waist.

She rose from the bed and quickly put on her robe, tying the sash as she went into the living room. Locating her purse on the side table, she brought it over to the windows and fumbled around, finally finding her phone and turning it on.

The display glowed brightly as the home screen loaded up. Her phone vibrated as all the messages and emails she had missed while at bowling now came through. Mary shook her head as she looked at the list of messages waiting for her.

" _Mary, what is this business I hear from Murray about the Dubai investors pulling out…"_

" _Mary, your father is quite angry with you. Please call and we should talk before you speak to him…"_

" _Lady Mary, please find attached the Appellant's Factum, Appeal Book, Exhibit Book and Brief of Authorities for your review…"_

" _Lady Mary, the following draft designs require your comments and approval…"_

" _Lady Mary, we've received complaints from players at The Colony Club who were…"_

" _Mary, it was a pleasure to see you earlier this week. Why don't we have dinner soon and…"_

Mary closed her eyes and winced. Everything was going so well. She had secured financing for the expansion and a potentially lucrative joint venture with investors from Dubai. Revenues and profits were up across all the company properties. Her father was grudgingly pleased with her work, and was leaving her alone to make all the important decisions. She was building something real and significant with Matthew.

She opened her eyes and felt a tightness in her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand to silence a cry that threatened to escape. Try as she might to be positive, to see a way out of her predicament, she was at a loss for answers and options. A sinking feeling descended upon her, as though her life was somehow slipping away, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Her hand moved seemingly on its own to place her phone back in her purse. She looked down as her fingers brushed against a leather case buried in the bottom of the handbag. Flicking open the case, she drew the Glock 36 pistol out and held it up in the moonlight flowing in through the windows.

Mary was still staring at the gun when the lights turned on in the living room.

"Mary?"

She slowly turned around, the gun pointing up at the ceiling. Her handbag fell to the floor as she stared wide-eyed at Matthew, standing just outside the doorway to the bedroom. His hair was mussed from sleeping, his body bare to her gaze except for his black boxer briefs. His eyes snapped open when he saw the gun, and he slowly lifted his hands.

"Mary," he said cautiously. "Put down the gun."

Mary stared at the gun, as though she was shocked to see it in her hand. She looked from the gun over to Matthew and back again several times, finally returning to him. Her face fell and her lips parted, her voice catching as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Matthew," she pleaded. "You have no idea how sorry I am."

"It's all right," he said, taking a slow step towards her. "Everything will be all right, darling. Just put the gun down."

Mary shook her head vigorously. "No, you don't understand. It's all my fault. All of it."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you…we…can deal with it," Matthew nodded, taking another step forward. "Just…put the gun down, and we can talk."

"No," Mary said bitterly. "You're wrong. We can't. There's nothing we can do."

"But why?" he asked, still drawing ever closer to her.

"If I told you the reason, you would despise me and that I truly couldn't bear," she sobbed.

"Mary," he said, his hands raised. "I never would…I never could despise you."

Mary blinked hard, then looked at him with sad eyes.

"Remember the way we were, Matthew," she whispered. "These past months we had together. Remember them. With you, I finally realized what it means to be happy. I just know that I never will be."

"Mary," he frowned, taking another step.

Mary closed her eyes and turned the gun to her forehead.

"MARY!" Matthew shouted, lunging toward her.

She pulled the trigger and slumped to the floor.

Matthew fell to his knees next to her. He swatted the gun away and took her into his arms, clutching her to him fiercely and rocking back and forth with his eyes closed. The only sounds that reached his ears were his harsh breathing and his heart hammering against her chest. Finally opening his eyes, he lifted her off the floor and carried her carefully into the bedroom and lay her down on her side of the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

"Mary," he said cautiously. "Put down the gun."

Mary stared at the gun, as though she was shocked to see it in her hand. She looked from the gun over to Matthew and back again several times, finally returning to him. Her face fell and her lips parted, her voice catching as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Matthew," she pleaded. "You have no idea how sorry I am."

"It's all right," he said, taking a slow step towards her. "Everything will be all right, darling. Just put the gun down."

Mary shook her head vigorously. "No, you don't understand. It's all my fault. All of it."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you…we…can deal with it," Matthew nodded, taking another step forward. "Just…put the gun down, and we can talk."

"No," Mary said bitterly. "You're wrong. We can't. There's nothing we can do."

"But why?" he asked, still drawing ever closer to her.

"If I told you the reason, you would despise me and that I truly couldn't bear," she sobbed.

"Mary," he said, his hands raised. "I never would…I never could despise you."

Mary blinked hard, then looked at him with sad eyes.

"Remember the way we were, Matthew," she whispered. "These past months we had together. Remember them. With you, I finally realized what it means to be happy. I just know that I never will be."

"Mary," he frowned, taking another step.

Mary closed her eyes and turned the gun to her forehead.

"MARY!" Matthew shouted, lunging toward her.

She pulled the trigger and slumped to the floor.

Matthew fell to his knees next to her. He swatted the gun away and took her into his arms, clutching her to him fiercely and rocking back and forth with his eyes closed. The only sounds that reached his ears were his harsh breathing and his heart hammering against her chest. Finally opening his eyes, he lifted her off the floor and carried her carefully into the bedroom and lay her down on her side of the bed.

 **Chapter 12:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew took a sip of sparkling water as he stared out the window at the rising sun. He frowned when he realized the bottle was empty, glaring at it as though it was to blame for running out of water. Turning away from the window, he flipped the bottle into the recycling bin and walked through the living room, raising his arms and clasping his hands behind his head. The day was dawning and he hadn't slept for hours.

He turned into the bedroom and stopped, crossing his arms across his bare chest as he looked at the oversized King bed. It was obvious that he couldn't just leave Mary lying there. He needed to get her cleaned up at the very least, even though he dreaded the task, as well as all that would follow. After spending glorious months with her, almost all of their evenings in this very bed, he could not contemplate going on alone.

The vibrating of his mobile and the flashing of the screen drew his attention and he went over to the night stand and picked it up. Opening the email that had come through, he read the message quickly, paying particular attention to the list of attached files. Looking back over at Mary for a moment, his mind processed this newly received information. He covered his eyes with his hand and took a deep breath. Managing his websites meant he usually kept late hours, waiting on sports results from North America to come in. Staying up through the evening was nothing new for him, but right now he didn't feel as sharp as he usually was. To be honest, he felt miserable, though it wasn't entirely due to lack of sleep. Shaking his head, he made his way towards the ensuite bathroom, determined to wake himself up.

He flicked a switch and winced suddenly. The lights around the large mirror were painfully bright. He leaned over one of the sinks, closing his eyes for a moment to adjust to the glare before he opened his lids and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He needed a shower and a shave, he thought, as he stroked his chin and turned his head left to right. Truly, he needed a kip of at least three uninterrupted hours, but there was no time for that now. After what had happened with Mary last night, it would be a while before Matthew got any restful sleep, he expected.

Matthew's eyes narrowed as he stared at himself in the mirror. Blue eyes. Pale skin. A faint line across his forehead, barely visible except to him and his mother probably. Angular jawline, sharp and strong.

Strong. Was that what he was? Strong? Why? Because he was a man? Because he was above the law somehow? Because he was rich? Because some people thought he was powerful?

Matthew turned away from his reflection and headed for the shower. No, it wasn't that easy. He wasn't strong simply because of who he was, for what he had, or even because some people saw him that way.

He was strong because he had no other choice. He was strong because Mary needed him to be.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, October 2014**

Matthew frowned at the screen of his laptop, moving through the different browser windows and applications. There had been significant progress at all of the casino properties since his arrival, but was it enough? Patrick had made such a mess of things that a few straightforward changes had a profound impact. The problem, of course, was that following after someone who did such a terrible job meant that great improvements were expected, and Lord Grantham was always so difficult to impress.

Matthew looked up from his computer as the door chime rang. He rose from his desk and wandered over to the door, wondering who it could be. Security wouldn't let just anyone up to his suite without clearing it with him first. If someone had reached the door without him knowing about it, it had to either be a delivery that was already expected, or someone known to the guards. But the guards only knew Alex and members of the Crawley family, and who would visit him here at his suite without ringing him first?

Matthew glanced through the peep hole and blinked in shock. He quickly opened the door for his guest.

"Violet!" he exclaimed in surprise, nodding respectfully to the older woman and stepping aside to allow her to come in.

"Matthew," Violet smiled kindly, walking past him and into the suite, the sound of her cane stomping on the polished floor echoed through the living room.

"Can I get you anything?" Matthew asked, following after her and walking over to the mini bar. "I can order up some tea, if you like?"

"No, no, no, stay where you are," Violet said, easing herself on to the sofa. "I'm quite fine to go without."

Matthew smiled politely and came over to her, taking a seat in the chair next to the sofa.

"No doubt you will regard this as rather unorthodox, my pushing into a man's hotel suite uninvited," Violet chuckled.

"It's a surprise, yes, but I wouldn't call anything that you do more unorthodox than any other," Matthew replied. "You know that I'm always pleased to speak to you. I just wish you had given me some notice that you were coming. I could have made a reservation at a restaurant for us."

"Oh, there's no need for that," Violet waved off his apology. "I actually didn't give you any warning on purpose. It's just that I don't want us to be disturbed, you see."

"Ah," Matthew said, a bit perplexed at her explanation.

"We haven't had a chance to catch up properly," Violet said. "I meant what I said when you were last at Downton. As I told your mother, I am pleased that you are here, in your rightful place, working for the company rather than wasting your talents in Manchester."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded.

"And I am especially pleased that you and Mary have survived thus far without drawing pistols at twenty paces," Violet said pointedly.

"I suppose I'm very lucky that way. Mary is a much better shot than I am," Matthew smirked.

"That she is. Now, on to the reason for my visit. This may come as a surprise, but I feel I must say it all the same," Violet said, her tone shifting slightly, implying something serious.

"Please do," Matthew said, his own expression cooling in response.

"Mary is in grave danger, and she needs your protection," Violet said, staring at him.

"What?" Matthew blurted out, blinking as though he must not have heard the Dowager Countess correctly.

"There is a lengthy tale behind it, which I shall share with you forthwith, however first I must be absolutely certain of two things – one, that what I am about to tell you will be kept entirely confidential, and shall not be repeated to anyone, including to Mary or any of the family. Should it be known that you have this knowledge, Mary's peril would only worsen, to say nothing for the embarrassment she would feel," Violet said.

"Of course," Matthew mumbled, growing more perplexed by the moment.

"Two – you must promise me that, after hearing me out, you will devote yourself to Mary's cause, whatever the cost," Violet said, watching him carefully.

"But…surely if Mary is in such a predicament, then Robert, or Cora, or…" Matthew began.

"I've come to you, Matthew," Violet interjected. "Now, do I have your agreement, or have I misjudged you and wasted my time in the process?"

"I will keep everything you tell me completely confidential," Matthew nodded.

"And as to the second condition?" Violet asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"If I can do anything to help Mary, I will," Matthew said firmly.

"Just as I expected you would," Violet smiled briefly. "Now, before I begin, I want you to remember not only those two promises that you have made, but the specific reason why you have agreed to do so. What I am about to tell you is highly sensitive information. Mary's own family doesn't know about it, and I dearly hope it shall remain that way. Perhaps a good place to start is to tell you about Mary's trust fund that was paid over to her when she reached the age of 18…"

* * *

"My God," Matthew said quietly, staring out the window.

"A truly unfortunate situation," Violet nodded, looking at him from her seat on the sofa.

Matthew turned and walked back towards her. "But, I don't understand. Why the need for secrecy? Mary was young. She made a mistake. She obviously wasn't the only one duped by Madoff. Billions were lost by individuals, corporations, charities, universities…entire governments invested with Fairfield, for God's sake!"

"And none of those other victims is the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham," Violet said simply. "Everything Mary has achieved would be wiped out in an instant should her failed investment become public knowledge. Regardless of anything I would say, Robert would never allow her to succeed him as President of the company, to say nothing for how swiftly he would remove all authority and power from her and demote her from her position as Vice-President. Her error in judgement would haunt her for the rest of her days."

"Then what's happened now?" Matthew asked slowly.

"To what are you referring to do?" Violet asked.

"You wouldn't be here telling me this unless someone outside of your control gained knowledge of this information somehow," Matthew stated. "The list of victims disclosed in U.S. Bankruptcy Court did not include all of the individual investors, and Mary would never have made a claim for fear of her name being made public record. SEC investigation documents are privileged and confidential. I suspect you would have suppressed anything else out there that could tie Mary to the scandal. So, who found out?"

Violet sighed and nodded. "I'm afraid you've already had the misfortune of meeting him – it's Sir Richard Carlisle."

"Carlisle?" Matthew blinked in surprise. "But, how?"

"I don't know, exactly," Violet shook her head. "I suppose it doesn't matter now. He knows. I'm assured by a very trustworthy source within his organization that he has recently learned of Mary's investment years ago."

"And you suspect that he's waiting for the opportunity to use it as leverage against her," Matthew nodded.

"Yes," Violet said. "He won't publish so long as he can use the threat of publishing to get what he wants from her. Mary's fall serves him no purpose. Her desperation to keep her secret safe, however, is a powerful card. He's simply waiting for the right time to play his hand."

"And I suppose confronting him would do no good," Matthew said.

"None at all," Violet nodded. "It would only encourage him, confirm for him that the information itself has value. To say nothing for the fact that Mary would be absolutely gutted if she knew we were aware of what she did. She abhors appearing weak. It's a common trait among the women in our family, I'm afraid."

"Why have you come to me?" Matthew asked. "There are surely others better qualified to look after Mary and guard her against Carlisle?"

"No, I don't think there is, actually. There is no one better suited for this mission than you, Matthew," Violet nodded.

"Why would you say that?" he frowned.

"Because you're still in love with Mary," Violet declared.

Matthew's mouth fell open. "Violet…" he managed to sputter after a lengthy silence.

"Your mother and I often argue over this point," Violet continued. "I was convinced you must have moved on years ago. She always suspected that the flame hadn't quite gone out, even when you had other girlfriends. A reasonable expectation on both of our parts, really. But, I was watching you closely when you were at Downton, and again at the Pink Ribbon Ball at the Natural History Museum. Yes, you and Mary still argue, and pretend to ignore each other, but I saw the way you looked at her when her attention was elsewhere. You looked like Romeo standing beneath the balcony."

"Violet…please don't think that I mind you making such assumptions," Matthew blushed. "I will admit that I did have feelings for Mary when we were teenagers, but that was ages ago, and was nothing more than a silly crush. We're work colleagues now, nothing more. Besides, consider that Mary has never reciprocated even the most polite affection towards me. How I feel about her is quite irrelevant then, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, perhaps that can change," Violet smiled.

"What?" Matthew frowned again.

"Take on this task that I have given you, Matthew, and I will arrange for you and Mary to be married," Violet said. "She will be your wife, in every sense of the word, in return for your protection and as a reward for your devotion to the family."

"You would marry her off to me, without any consideration for her feelings on the subject?" Matthew asked in shock.

"Yes, I would," Violet said easily. "Mary knows that her first duty is to her family. She would not be pleased about it…"

"That is a severe understatement…" Matthew muttered, his tone thick with sarcasm.

"But she would follow orders, and would grow to tolerate a life at your side eventually, I believe, given sufficient time," Violet said.

"Tolerate it?" Matthew cringed as though he was in actual pain.

"Yes, tolerate it. Eventually, she would see that you are an adequate match for her. You're the Managing Director of the company. Robert and Cora have always liked you. You get along with Mary's sisters as well, and of course you would be saving her from ruin," Violet explained.

"Tolerate a life with me," Matthew muttered, more to himself than to Violet.

"Is something the matter, my boy? Having Mary pledged to you for as long as you wish is what you've always wanted, isn't it?" Violet nodded.

"I won't do that," Matthew shook his head. "I would never accept Mary as my wife for duty or convenience, or without her full consent!"

Violet regarded him curiously.

"I will honour my promises to you, and do what I can to help Mary," Matthew nodded. "I told you that I would, and it's the least I can do for all you've done for me in the past. But I won't have her hand in marriage as a condition of my assistance."

"Spoken like a man of honour," Violet smiled. "And precisely what I expected you to say."

Matthew blinked and looked at Violet in surprise. "You were testing me," he said slowly. "You would never force Mary to marry a man she didn't want."

"I wouldn't call it a test. It was more a confirmation of what I already knew," Violet said with satisfaction.

Matthew huffed and looked away.

"For whatever it may be worth, I admire you Matthew. A man willing to love a woman while expecting nothing in return is a rare breed," Violet stated. "You are a true gentleman."

"Or a fool," Matthew retorted.

"Well, I shall not keep you any longer. I expect you have much to do, and truthfully, I have dinner plans this evening with Rosamund and some of her ghastly friends," Violet said, leaning on her cane as she rose to her feet.

"Shall I keep you informed as to whatever may arise with Carlisle?" Matthew asked as he escorted her to the door.

"Oh, there's no need," Violet shook her head. "Just keep Mary safe, and be vigilant at all times, Matthew. I do not know what Carlisle is after, but the man cannot be trusted."

"I agree, and I've only just met him," Matthew scoffed, opening the door for her. "Good day, Violet."

"God watch over you, Matthew," Violet nodded. She walked out into the hall and a security guard took her over to the elevator.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Mary had never contemplated the afterlife, or spent any time at all wondering what became of a person after they died. Such ruminations were the domain of Sybil and those like her who enjoyed debating such irrelevant matters. Mary assumed there was a Heaven and a Hell. If pressed, she would admit that she believed that good people were rewarded and bad people were punished, but she didn't care for the precise process of it. Once you were dead and gone from the world, did it matter what happened to you?

She slowly opened her eyes and took in the brightly lit bedroom. She felt a pounding in her head and rolled away from the sunlight coming in through the windows. Well, it was only fitting that she felt some pain, she supposed. Perhaps it was a portent of things to come.

She sat up and closed her eyes for a moment as she waited for her headache to ease slightly. Raising her hand to her face, she gingerly touched her cheek, moving slowly up to her forehead. She patted her hair and swallowed nervously as she did not feel any gaping wound from the self-inflicted gunshot that she used to claim her own life. This was confusing to her, but then again, perhaps one did not carry the evidence of one's death into the afterlife?

Rising from the bed and standing up, Mary recognized the bedroom of Matthew's hotel suite. Why would her first moments after death be spent here? She slowly brought her hand in front of her face, turning it back and forth and examining it. Everything felt so real. Her body wasn't transparent or see-through and she didn't feel as though she was floating or ethereal in any way. Maybe this was a punishment somehow? To spend eternity as a wraith, a spirit, able to remain on Earth and follow her loved ones as they lived their lives, but unable to interact with them in any way. She was neither going to ascend to the Heavens or fall to Purgatory. Her fate was to see how everyone she knew would go on to be perfectly happy without her.

She shook her head as she glanced around the room, her hands moving to the waist of her silk robe. This was rather disappointing. If she was going to be haunting the steps of Matthew and the others, the least she could do was have a proper outfit to wear. Even a basic pair of jeans and a sweater would be preferable to having to wander until the end of time in nothing but a thin robe, no bra and skimpy boy shorts.

Her head snapped up as she heard the sound of the shower running in the ensuite bathroom.

 _Matthew_.

As she moved over towards the open door, she didn't know whether to feel happy or sad. Was she allowed to feel anything at all? Seeing Matthew for the first time in her new form would surely make her frantic with grief, guilt, despair and regret. Yet, she also desperately wanted to see him. Even if she gave up being with him, to be able to see him live out the rest of his life in safety would be a blessing. She would watch as he led Crawley Group through decades of prosperity, and honoured her parents and her family as he was destined to do. Mary knew she would not enjoy watching him date again, find a new girlfriend, a new lover, eventually settle down with a wife and children. Perhaps the powers-that-be would have mercy and allow her to move on before then. To have to watch Matthew with another woman would be a severe punishment indeed, she thought.

Stepping on to the tile of the bathroom, Mary approached the glass shower, watching the water cascade over Matthew's naked body. His eyes were closed as he washed his hair, his hands raised to lather through his blond locks. He turned away from her and she could not help but smile as she took in his broad shoulders, the lean muscles across his back, his firm ass, and his legs, solid and sculpted from years of cycling. When she was alive, Mary had seen all types of men. She had spent a few forgettable hen nights in numerous dens of ill repute, witnessing everything from boorish overweight drunkards to towering strippers with bodies seemingly chiselled from granite. Matthew was fit, to be certain, but he didn't obsess over his body or his workout routine. He was neither narcissistic, nor slothful. As Mary stood there ogling him, she smiled as though she were admiring a piece of art that she was knew everything about. He was simply well put-together, strong and firm, but not too much.

In the next moment, Matthew turned back towards her, stepping under the waterfall shower to rinse the shampoo from his hair and to scrub himself with body wash. Mary bit her lower lip as the soap and water ran down his chest, over his hard stomach and past his noticeable morning arousal. She supposed she shouldn't be having such wanton thoughts of him now, or take any pleasure from getting to see him like this. But, damn it, if she was going to be stuck here and never make love to him ever again, she should be allowed to look, at the very least.

Matthew reached over to the wall and turned off the shower. He grabbed a towel from the rack at the back of the stall and dried his hair and patted down his body before wrapping it around his waist. He opened the glass door and stepped on to the bathmat, then froze as he looked in Mary's direction.

Mary returned his gaze, expecting him to continue on with his morning routine. She had no idea what day it was and how long it had been since she committed suicide, but as all of this felt new to her, she could sense herself blushing as he stared at her. Of course he couldn't actually see her, but she pretended for a moment that those blue eyes were looking at her, undressing her with his eyes, admiring the way the robe clung to her body. As ludicrous as it was, given her situation, she felt warm inside from his stare. Oh well, perhaps with time she would learn to not feel so much, and become as cold and unaffected as a ghost was supposed to be. Maybe she would…

"Mary," Matthew said firmly. "Why don't you go out into the living room and we'll talk when I'm done in here?"

Mary blinked in surprise. Just who did he think he was speaking to?

"Mary," Matthew repeated, looking right at her all the while. "I'll be out in just a moment. Go on."

Good God, losing her must have driven him to madness! Did he talk to her every morning? Was he so delusional as to carry on entire conversations with her as though she were still alive?

"Mary, please," Matthew said, annoyance evident in his tone. "I'll be quick about it. Just please go and wait for me in the living room!"

Mary opened her mouth to speak, then turned and looked at the mirror above the double sinks. She could see her own crystal clear reflection in the glass. Blinking in shock, she looked away and quickly hurried from the room. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as went out into the living room. She rubbed her arms back and forth, feeling the heat of her skin. Bringing her hands to her mouth, she exhaled, the touch of her warm breath sending her mind spinning. Placing two fingers on her neck, she felt her pulse, strong and pounding.

But, all of this was impossible! Wasn't it? She was dead.

Mary collapsed on to the sofa, her hands resting on her knees as she tried to explain what was happening. She looked over to the far wall, to the area of the carpet where she had stood when she shot herself.

The carpet was clean and spotless. There was no bloodstain on the floor, the walls or on any of the furniture.

"Before we get down to it," Matthew said, coming out of the bedroom fully clothed. He walked past her and went over to the minibar to fetch two bottles of water. "The answer is yes. Yes, you are very much alive, I assure you."

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, February 2015**

Anna grimaced with her eyes closed as the familiar buzz of a vibrating mobile phone disturbed her sleep. She swallowed and shifted her head against the pillow, waiting impatiently for Alex to answer it before she tried to fall back asleep. Keeping her eyes shut and lying still, she frowned as the vibrating continued and the man spooned behind her did not move.

"Alex," she mumbled, patting his arm wrapped around her, just below her breasts. "Alex, your phone."

"Mmm," Alex groaned, his breath warm against her shoulder and neck. "That's yours, love."

"No, it's not," Anna grumbled, refusing to open her eyes. "I never put my phone on vibrate outside of the office. Answer it!"

Alex grunted and sat up, reaching over her to retrieve the phone from her nightstand.

"You put it on silent when we got here last night after bowling," he said, pressing the phone into her hand, which caused her to finally open her eyes. "It's yours."

"Fine," Anna scoffed when she saw there was an incoming call for her. She snuggled back against him as he lay down behind her and held her once more. "Hello?" she asked, answering the phone.

"Anna, it's Gwen," Gwen replied.

"Gwen, hi," Anna said, making no move to get up just yet. "Something come up?"

"You could say that," Gwen answered. "We've got the reports from the GPS tracking on that silver BMW."

"Right," Anna nodded. "Anything interesting?"

"Much," Gwen said. "I'm sending the reports over to you now. Thought you'd want to see them and share them with Mr. Lewis."

"Thanks," Anna said. "I'll make sure he sees them. Bye."

Anna hung up the call and looked at her phone screen as she waited for Gwen's email to come through.

"Something about the Albanians?" Alex asked.

"Yeah," Anna said. "Gwen's sending over the reports from the last couple days of tracking the BMW. She seems to think there's something in them that you and I will want to see."

"She mentioned me?" Alex asked.

"Of course she did. It saves her the extra work of contacting you if she just hands that task to me," Anna explained.

"And how would she know that you are able to reach me on a Saturday?" Alex asked, eyes still closed.

"She knows about us," Anna smiled, still looking at her email inbox on the phone screen. "That's why she called me first. Besides, what does it matter? You certainly weren't shy around the others last night, to say nothing for the fact that you abducted me and brought me here afterward."

"Abducted you?" Alex frowned. "In what way?"

"You drove me here instead of going back to mine. I'd say that's an abduction, wouldn't you?" she asked, turning on to her back so she could look up at the phone and steal glances at him as well.

"No," Alex disagreed. "I would call it self-preservation. I didn't want to spend another night on your couch."

"Don't think you're safe here just because we're in your flat," Anna smirked. "I'd not hesitate to kick you out of your own bed if you annoyed me enough."

"I have no doubt," Alex chuckled, moving closer and kissing her neck. "And was I annoying last night?"

"No," Anna smiled, closing her eyes and enjoying his touch. "You were pleasantly not annoying."

She sat up suddenly as her phone vibrated and Gwen's email came through. Opening up the attached files, she scanned the reports, which consisted of daily logs showing the places that Daniel Tom's silver BMW had visited, together with notes on arrival and departure time, travel routes and a map illustrating each day's trips.

"Oof! Anna!" Alex complained, opening his eyes and rubbing his temple, which had a rather unfortunate meeting with Anna's shoulder when she sat up without warning him first.

"Come on, babes," Anna smiled at him. "You're fine."

"What did Gwen find out?" Alex grumbled, sitting up and looking over Anna's shoulder at her phone screen.

"See for yourself," she sighed, passing the phone to him. "It goes deeper than we thought."

Alex scrolled through the reports, frowning as he read more and more. He was still frowning when he passed the phone back to Anna.

"Crawley Construction, the London School of Economics Gender Institute; they're following Lady Edith and Lady Sybil as well," he said grimly.

"Should we notify Lord Grantham?" Anna asked.

"We need to find out what the Albanian Mafia wants with us," Alex said, throwing off the duvet and getting up out of bed. "I'll let Matthew know what we have and he and Lady Mary can decide how much they want to involve His Lordship."

Anna watched him grab his phone off the nightstand and wander out into the hallway. She looked up at the ceiling briefly, then rose from bed and made her way to the bathroom.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew's phone buzzed and the sound of a lightsaber rang out across the living room. He paired specific sounds and ringtones with different contacts so that he knew when a specific person was calling or texting him. Alex had changed the settings on Matthew's phone such that a lightsaber sound effect meant a text or email and _The Imperial March_ signaled a phone call. Normally Matthew would roll his eyes when one of those sounds played from his phone, and he often chastised Alex for being such a nerd because of it.

This time, however, he ignored it completely.

"You fainted," Matthew said quietly, looking at Mary sitting on the sofa, holding herself as though she were shivering. "Probably a combination of stress, the alcohol and…shock."

Mary stared blankly ahead, her lips sealed.

"I already emptied the clip while you were in the shower," Matthew said. "Although I did not expect you to…do what you did, it's fortunate that there were no bullets in the gun."

"How did you know?" Mary whispered, still not looking at him.

"It made sense that Carlisle would try something," Matthew replied. "Stay in this business long enough and it isn't hard to spot which of your rivals are simply competitors and which are more…cutthroat. I imagine he was quite content when Patrick was running the division, but we've made significant gains since the autumn, and it would figure that he would not take kindly to the lost market share, among other grievances against me."

"But how did you know he would use me?" Mary asked, finally daring to look him in the eyes.

"He's not the type to take care of such things himself," Matthew shrugged. "He'd rather pay someone else to do his dirty work. He knew we worked together. He knew you could get close to me. He knew he could convince you to do it."

Mary blinked, her eyes widening in alarm.

"Violet told me about your failed investments," Matthew continued. "She learned that Carlisle obtained this information and she suspected he would use it against you, though she didn't know how or to what end. I gathered that he would never suggest that you sabotage the company, or pit you against your family. But, when faced with a bothersome outsider like me, he saw his chance, and he took it."

Mary swallowed loudly. "Granny…Granny knew? All this time?" she stammered.

"I don't know how, but yes, she knew about your using your trust fund to buy shares in Fairfield Greenwich. She hasn't told anyone else. She only told me because she recruited me to help keep your secret safe," Matthew said.

"Classic Granny," Mary said bitterly, looking away for a moment. "Did you…did you already know the night of the Black and White Ball?"

"Yes," Matthew said quietly. "I knew about your secret and that Carlisle was aware of it."

Mary looked up at him in surprise.

"You knew even then?" she asked. "And yet, you still allowed me to…"

"I promised Violet that I would protect you," Matthew said, getting up from his chair and going over to his desk. "Spending as much time with you as possible seemed the best strategy to achieve that."

"But last night was not the first night that I…" Mary mumbled. "It wasn't the first night that I brought the gun here."

"I know," Matthew said curtly. He took out an USB flash drive from his laptop and came back over to the couch. "I emptied the magazine from your gun last week as well, while you were asleep."

Mary watched as he placed the USB stick on the glass coffee table and slid it across to her.

"These are all the files that Carlisle had regarding your investment in Fairfield," he explained. "Documents, emails, call notes, draft articles, everything. My team obtained them from his computer network and erased a bunch of unrelated data to cover their tracks. There may be paper copies floating around somewhere, but it makes it far more difficult for him to follow through on his threat without having the full extent of his evidence against you. He would open himself up to a libel suit"

Mary picked up the USB drive with shaking fingers. She stared at it for several moments before looking back at Matthew searchingly.

"He would have had backups, surely," she said. "Remote servers and recovery protocols…"

"Gone, all of it," Matthew said, his tone of voice even and devoid of emotion. "We staged a cyber attack on his company. A fictitious anarchist anti-globalization group will claim responsibility. We got his backups. We got the backups to his backups and the remote server farm where he stored all of his information was coincidentally hacked as well. Because he maintained a link between his home computer and his office, we were able to wipe his personal network while we were at it. A lucky thing, that. I would hate to have to break into his home."

Matthew got up from the chair and went over to the window, sipping his water.

"What do you intend to do with this information, now that you have it?" Mary asked, looking over at him, his back to her.

"That's the only copy, and it's yours," Matthew said, facing the window. "My team is entirely trustworthy and did not retain any of the data they stole from Carlisle. I haven't told anyone about this, not even Robert or Alex. Your secret is safe once again."

Mary's eyes went wide and she glanced back down at the USB drive, barely believing Matthew's words.

"I'm going to take a drive," Matthew announced, grabbing his car keys and his mobile from the side table. "There's a hotel Mercedes waiting downstairs to take you and your belongings back to Grantham House. Take as long as you need. I won't be back until late tonight."

Mary watched him walk towards the door.

"Wait, Matthew," she said, standing up. "That's it?"

"What else could there be?" Matthew asked, looking over his shoulder at her, his hand poised on the door handle. "You're free of Carlisle. I've fulfilled my promise to Violet. Everyone's gotten what they wanted in the end. There's no longer any reason for us to pretend. We know where we stand now, don't we?"

Mary's eyes widened and she felt a stab of fear in her chest.

"Sir Richard won't take this lightly," she said, searching for anything to make him stay.

"No, I suppose he won't," Matthew nodded. "But he doesn't have much choice. He won't risk publishing without evidence, and he won't want an open fight with your Papa. He isn't that stupid. In any event, so long as he doesn't publish, I trust you can deal with whatever may arise."

Matthew looked away and turned the door handle.

"Matthew," Mary called again.

He stopped and slowly looked back at her, his eyes revealing nothing.

"Thank you," Mary managed. "For everything."

"Just doing my job," Matthew said quietly before he walked out.

 **The Grape & Grain Pub, Crystal Palace, London, England, February 2015**

Alex looked up from his mobile and over at Matthew, sitting stoically in the driver's seat. He was resting his head against his hand, his elbow on the sill of the door of the Range Rover. He stared into the distance, his lips pursed. He had barely made any conversation since they met up to follow Daniel Tom back to his favourite pub.

"Anna said that Lady Mary was wondering about our status," Alex said.

"Tell Anna that we'll report in when we actually have something to report," Matthew replied.

"Or, you could just respond to Lady Mary yourself instead of using us as messengers," Alex suggested.

"If Anna gave you the message, then you should reply to Anna," Matthew said.

"Very well," Alex nodded slowly, looking at Matthew curiously.

"Here comes Mr. Mason," Matthew announced.

He and Alex watched as William made his way down the pavement towards them, trying to appear casual and failing spectacularly. He finally reached them and ducked quickly into the back seat.

"He's inside, sir," William said. "I didn't want to stay long in case he recognized me from before, but it appeared as though he was meeting with them Albanians again."

"Well done, William," Matthew said. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in the driver's seat, looking down the road at the pub.

"So…what do we do next, sir?" William asked after a while, glancing from Matthew to Alex sitting in the passenger seat.

"Wait for them to come out," Alex stated. "Follow them to their next location, and see if we can gather any clues from putting them under surveillance for a while."

William nodded and sat back in his seat, swallowing nervously.

"You're wondering why we don't try and grab Mr. Tom and interrogate him when his powerful friends aren't around, aren't you, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked, his eyes still trained on the pub.

"No, sir," William shook his head vigorously.

Matthew looked in the rear view mirror and caught the young man's gaze.

"Er, well, yes sir," William admitted.

"Mr. Mason, regardless of what you may have heard, in the end, none of us are gangsters, in the traditional sense," Matthew said, returning to the view of the pub. "I'm certainly not. Lord Grantham isn't, and Lady Mary isn't either. We run businesses – the casinos, Lady Edith's construction company, and we manage the family investments in Downton Village and other enterprises. That's all. We don't deal in drugs, prostitution, or extortion. We don't pay off police officers or judges. We don't demand protection money or spread corruption through the government. We don't care about any of that bullshit. We make money. A lot of it. That's all."

William nodded, hanging on Matthew's every word.

"The Albanian Mafia, Mr. Mason," Matthew said, nodding towards the pub. "They are an entirely different organization. The problem with taking them on, even if we wanted to, is that it never ends. Anything we do will lead to revenge. It's part of their code, their very existence depends on letting no perceived offence go unanswered. They follow us, we question their driver to find out why. They fight back, we defend ourselves. They eventually escalate matters by trying to kill one of us. It's a useless game, you see. Even if we win, we all lose."

"Then…" William stammered. "Then, how do we find out why they're following Lady Edith, Lady Sybil and Mr. Lewis without…erm…offending them, sir?"

"By following them and not getting caught doing it, Mr. Mason," Matthew said, his eyes locked on the pub.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015**

"You're here?" Edith said, wandering past Mary's bedroom and finding her sister inside.

"Is it so strange a concept that I would be in my own bedroom in my own home?" Mary asked, not bothering to look up from her magazine.

"As a matter of fact, as of late, it would be quite strange, yes," Edith said, coming in and sitting down on the bed. "I see more of you at the office than I do here."

"Well here I am, so have your fill," Mary retorted, flipping the page.

"Will Matthew be joining us for dinner, then?" Edith asked.

"No," Mary said curtly. "He's working late today."

"Ah," Edith nodded. "So you'll go over to his after dinner, will you?"

"I couldn't tell you. I'll have to see," Mary said evenly.

"I must say, I still cannot believe that the two of you are together," Edith laughed.

"Yes, yes, everyone finds it so ridiculous that Matthew could actually care about someone like me, I know," Mary grumbled.

"Oh, it's not that. We stopped trying to figure that out years ago," Edith chuckled. "Everyone knows he's been in love with you since we were children."

"What?" Mary frowned, closing her magazine and sitting up, looking over at her sister incredulously.

"Matthew? In love with you since forever? Sound familiar?" Edith asked, widening her eyes as though Mary was failing to grasp something obvious.

"He was just infatuated, like any other boy," Mary scoffed. "It was a crush, nothing any deeper than that, and it certainly wasn't love. When we were teenagers, he once bragged to Patrick and Larry that we'd slept together, you know."

"Matthew did that?" Edith asked.

"Yes! Noble, righteous, chivalrous Matthew once lied about me being on his list of conquests! You're mortified about this stain on his pristine character, I know," Mary rolled her eyes. "So you see, he's just like any other man – only cares about one thing."

"If that's true, then why are you still with him?" Edith asked.

"You know me," Mary said, looking down at the duvet. "I'm quite fond of shiny new toys, until I grow bored of them, that is. Why should it be any different with him?"

"So he's with you for the sex, and you're with him out of convenience, and because you can't be bothered to get rid of him?" Edith asked.

"Something like that," Mary shrugged, giving her sister her best poker face.

"Well, that's rather sobering," Edith said, standing up from Mary's bed. "Here I thought that fairy tales could come true after all. The gallant prince enduring all manner of trials and tribulations of unrequited love to finally win the hand of the princess he's adored for so long. Ah, well…"

"Trials and tribulations," Mary huffed. "I hardly think I was that mean to him."

"You don't think you were _that_ mean to him?" Edith repeated in shock. "Did you honestly just say that?"

"Yes," Mary answered indignantly. "What did I ever do to him? Really. So I didn't return his affections. That isn't a crime."

"What isn't a crime?" Sybil asked, bouncing into the room and standing next to Edith.

"Mary seems to think that her past behaviour towards Matthew could not be classified as being overly mean," Edith smirked at their youngest sister.

Sybil blinked, then frowned, then covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to stop herself from laughing.

"Sybil!" Mary hissed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling," Sybil said, finally allowing herself to chuckle a bit. "But unfortunately you do tend to get a bit too wrapped up in yourself from time to time. You're quite poor at realizing what's going on right in front of you."

"Before the two of you have a giggling fit," Mary frowned. "I know that I've been rude to Matthew in the past. I've apologized to him for that already. But, Edith seems to suggest that I was actually cruel to him, and I disagree."

"Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Edith grinned at Sybil.

Sybil took a moment to stop laughing, then smiled at Mary. "Darling, it's perfectly understandable that you don't believe us, and that you don't feel as though you've been too hard on poor Matthew. You've never been in his situation, so you don't know how it feels."

"What situation is that? And how does he feel, exactly, if you're both such experts?" Mary asked, looking from Sybil to Edith and back again.

"When you're in love with someone, everything they do becomes amplified," Edith said.

"It's as though everything is more intense," Sybil nodded. "A simple compliment sounds like music from an orchestra. An insult meant in good fun becomes a mortal wound."

"You don't think how you treated Matthew was cruel, but for those of us who knew how he felt about you, it was ghastly to watch, you see," Edith said.

Mary frowned and shook her head.

"Then why did he keep on supposedly loving me so much, if what you say is true?" Mary demanded, waving her hands. "If I was such a mean bitch to him all those years then why would he still want me now? How could he possibly love me knowing just how horrible I can be?"

"Hey, hey," Sybil said calmly, reaching out and touching Mary's shoulder. "There's no need to get worked up about it. The past is in the past. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I'm just trying to understand, that's all," Mary said, her voice returning to a normal volume. "I don't expect Matthew to love me, but Edith and you both seem convinced that he does, and I want to know why."

"I've often wondered the same thing, truly," Edith shrugged.

Mary and Sybil both glared at her.

"All right, all right," Edith shook her head. "That wasn't the answer to your question."

"Matthew loves you," Sybil said, looking at her older sister seriously. "He loves you because he's seen you at your best, as well as at your worst. He's seen how much you love your family, how driven and ambitious you are, how under the ice cold veneer, you actually have a very big heart. He knows you can be horrid when you want to be, and that you like to argue, and all the rest of it. He loves you because of all of that, not in spite of it. It all makes you who you are, and he loves who you are. Did you not know that?"

"No," Mary admitted. "I thought he was just delusional, or blinded by finally getting to fulfil his misguided dream of having me after all these years, or seeing me as someone that I'm not."

"No, that's not it," Sybil shook her head, smiling sympathetically. "He's no fool, Mary. He isn't just with you for his ego or anything like that. Didn't you say that it was Matthew who asked you to be exclusive?"

"Yes, it was his idea," Mary nodded.

"And why would he do that, if he didn't feel something for you?" Edith smiled. "He just wanted to be exclusive on a whim, did he?"

"But why would he risk it?" Mary asked. "He knew I didn't feel the same way about him from before. Why commit himself to me when I just could end up breaking his heart?"

"I don't know," Sybil said. "He must have thought you were worth the risk."

Mary turned away and looked over at the wall.

"Come on," Edith said. "Mrs. Bute will want to know that you're staying for dinner, and you may as well look at the menu before she gets too far into it."

Mary got up from the bed and slowly followed her sisters out into the hall. Food was hardly at the forefront of her thoughts.

 **The Grape & Grain Pub, Crystal Palace, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew sipped his Coke as he continued to watch the entrance to the pub. The silver BMW had not moved from its parking spot, and so he was confident that Daniel Tom and his companions were still inside. He would be rather annoyed if they had to wait all night for their quarry to emerge, but wait he would.

It wasn't as though he had anything else to do tonight.

He pursed his lips as he thought back to the morning conversation with Mary. There was a brief moment of relief when he could finally let her know everything. Being forced to guard her secret and not being able to talk to her about it ate away at him in the months leading up to now. There were times where he would hold her while she slept, or wake up next to her in the morning and convince himself that they could survive it all, that he could tell her what he knew and what he was doing to protect her and they could carry on as they had been when it was all over with. Each time though, he would stop himself and refocus on his task. With his mission now complete, all he felt was empty.

If he was truly ruthless, he could have kept Mary around. Regardless of her feelings, or lack thereof, she was in his debt, and he could exploit that if he wanted to. He could use her scandal to impose whatever conditions he wanted upon her, bind her to him indefinitely and command her as he wished. His power over her would win him her support in the boardroom and her submission in the bedroom. Any red-blooded man would revel in holding such sway over a beautiful woman like Mary.

But ultimately, such a relationship would be but an illusion, and Matthew could never endure that. He wasn't one for putting on an act, and with the Carlisle drama solved for now, the convenient excuse that he needed to keep Mary close for her safety was gone. She was free now, and he couldn't stand the idea that she remain with him out of duty or sense of obligation. He couldn't stare into those dark brown eyes and see disdain and resentment and not have it affect him. He already knew what that was like, and he did not want to endure it again. No, forcing Mary to continue their relationship would be creating a prison for the both of them to suffer in.

Matthew blinked and finished his Coke. For a few short months, everything was glorious. He could at least have that to remember, and cling to the belief that Mary had felt something for him in all that time that wasn't motivated by her mission from Carlisle or any other outside influences. For a moment in time, she cared for him without reservation. That's what he would tell himself at least, as he forged on without her.

Matthew's eyes widened as the pub door opened and a group of men came out on to the pavement.

"They're leaving," Matthew said. Alex and William both followed his gaze as Daniel Tom and his companions made their way down the street.

William worked quickly to capture numerous photographs from the back seat with his camera, adjusting the zoom lens to get close-up shots of each of the individuals.

Alex frowned as the group dispersed. Daniel Tom and another man continued on to the silver BMW. Everyone else each went off in different directions.

"What do we do now?" Alex asked. "We can't follow them all."

"Do you have clear photos of all of them, Mr. Mason?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, sir," William replied, looking at the display screen on his camera. "Got 'em all."

"We have the tracking device on the BMW already," Matthew said. "Let's follow one of these other fellows and see where he takes us."

He turned the key and the Range Rover snarled to life. After giving their target a fair lead, Matthew steered their vehicle away from the kerb and followed their prey.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015**

Mary's phone rang, causing her to lift her head suddenly from her magazine and grab for it on the coffee table. Edith and Sybil wanted to go out for dessert somewhere after dinner was done, but Mary declined, preferring to go through to the sitting room and read. She didn't know why she expected Matthew to call, but she felt disappointed as his face did not appear on the call display of her mobile.

"Yes, hello," she said, answering the call.

"Lady Mary, it's Alex," Alex said politely.

"Alex, how are you?" Mary asked cordially.

"Very well, thank you. Matthew wanted me to call you to let you know that we've hit a bit of a dead end tonight. We have a number of photographs to review in the morning, but surveillance is over for today. We followed one of the Albanians from his meeting with Mr. Tom, but it hasn't resulted in any leads. We've called it a night and Matthew says if you wanted to report to Lord Grantham, then he'll support your decision," Alex said crisply.

Mary frowned. "Thank you for the update. Is Matthew with you? May I speak to him, please?"

"He dropped us off at Crockfords and I'm afraid we each went our separate ways, Lady Mary," Alex informed her. "I don't know where he's gone, but I assume he's on his way back to the Shangri-La."

"Of course," Mary said. "I believe we'll hold off on contacting Lord Grantham until we have had a chance to look at the photographs. Good night, Alex."

"Lady Mary," Alex replied before hanging up.

Mary stared at her phone for a moment, checking her call log. There were no missed calls, no unread text messages and no new emails. She sighed and put the phone down again, taking up her magazine and trying to lose herself in the latest fashion trends.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He blinked several times before slowly sitting up from the sofa and putting his feet down on the floor. When he finally returned home from his failed surveillance trip, he was so tired he just passed out on the sofa in his suit, figuring he would wake up at some point and drag himself to bed.

They had chosen one of the tattooed Albanians to follow from the pub. The man had gotten into a black Audi coupe and driven off into the night. Matthew maintained a safe distance, which was difficult on some of the narrow streets of London, but they were not detected as they followed the black Audi to a strip club. After waiting several moments, Alex had gone in and scouted the place, coming back out soon after to report that their man was inside enjoying the entertainment and seemed to be settling in for a while. After another half hour with the man still inside, Matthew called off their surveillance and drove them back to Crockfords so he could fetch his own car and both Alex and William could head home. William would analyse the photos in the morning and they would continue to track Daniel Tom and his silver BMW, waiting for a better opportunity to find out why these men were assigned to follow members of the Crawley family and the company.

Matthew theorized that the Albanians must have been hired by someone. There was no quarrel between the Crawley family and the Albanians, and no dealings between them either. They carried on business in entirely separate industries and markets. Though the Albanians were known to stage armed robberies, following the Crawleys around the city would not get them into the casino vaults. No, there was no reason why the Albanians would be concerned with the family unless they were paid to do so.

He pushed himself up to his feet and shuffled towards the bedroom. Having to face Mary at work was not something he was looking forward to, but tomorrow was Sunday and he would have a day to prepare for it. There would have to be an explanation given to the family at some point, particularly since they all seem so pleased when Mary announced their relationship back at Downton Abbey during Christmas. As cowardly as it made him seem, Matthew hoped that Mary would deal with that. Facing the disappointment of Lord Grantham was not an ordeal that Matthew wanted to suffer, if he could help it.

He frowned and looked toward the foyer as the door lock beeped and the handle turned. Before Matthew could react further, Mary came into the suite, closing the door behind her and approaching him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I…" Mary stuttered, all her rehearsed lines vanishing from her mind when she saw him. "Isn't this where we sleep?"

Matthew shook his head and turned for the bedroom. "Good night, Mary."

"Stop!" she spat out, closing the distance between them as he turned back towards her.

"Yes?" he asked, his exasperation rising.

"I…you…you don't get to do this," she said finally.

"I don't get to do what?" he asked, frowning at her again.

"This – breaking up with me. You don't get to decide that all on your own," Mary said, her voice steadying as she forged ahead.

"I don't?" he questioned. "And why not? We both know our feelings on the subject."

"You're doing it again!" she shook her head. "Making assumptions and jumping to conclusions without hearing me out."

Matthew's brow crinkled slightly as he looked at her as though she'd gone mad. "Hearing you out? Actually, your actions have spoken quite loudly, wouldn't you say?"

Mary swallowed and looked down at the floor.

"Fine," he said, crossing his arms in front of him. "What do you have to say?"

"I…I don't want…this…to be over," she said quietly.

"You don't want…this…to be over," he repeated. "And what is this, exactly?"

"This relationship," she said, looking at him again. "You and me, together. I don't want it to end."

"How can it possibly continue?" he asked. "You expect me to stay with you after everything that's happened?"

"I don't expect you to, no," she shook her head. "But I want you to. I want you to want to be with me."

"You had orders to kill me," he stated coldly. "I'm supposed to overlook that just because you weren't successful?"

"No," she said. "I'm not asking you to overlook it, but to understand how I came to be in that position, and to keep in mind that when I had the chance to do it – twice – I chose not to."

"I suppose that's true," he admitted. "And how do I know you won't try again?"

"You don't," she said after a brief pause. "Just as I don't know that you won't try to kill me as punishment or retribution. I'm trusting that you won't."

"Please," Matthew scoffed. "We both know I would never do that."

"All right," Mary agreed. "Then you must trust that I have no reason to cross you, now that you've taken steps to protect me."

"Relying on there being any trust left between us sounds rather foolish, don't you think?" he asked as she drew closer to him.

"Very foolish, yes," she nodded. "But at least we'll both be fools, then, won't we?"

"It would be smarter to just keep you at a distance," he said, watching her warily.

"Yes, it would be," she agreed. "But you don't want to keep me away."

Matthew frowned and took a step away from her before she could touch him.

"You should go, Mary," he said.

Mary swallowed as he turned for the bedroom.

"No, I won't let you," she said firmly, chasing after him.

"You won't let me?" he growled, spinning back to face her.

"You're lying," she stated. "You're lying to me, because it's easier that way. You're trying to make it seem that you don't love me, so I'll give up and not bother trying to work through this with you."

"I don't love you," Matthew replied. "I told you. I was only fulfilling a promise to Violet."

"And did you promise Granny that you would date me?" Mary asked.

"Not specifically," Matthew answered. "But that was part of my plan to get close to you so I could find out the full extent of Carlisle's plotting."

"And did your plan call for making love to me, then?" Mary asked, stepping closer to him.

"I didn't plan on that, no," Matthew said tightly. "But I was prepared to do whatever was necessary."

"And sleeping with me every night for four months was necessary, was it?" Mary asked. "When you laughed with me, and flirted with me, that was just doing a duty? Nothing more?"

"Nothing more," Matthew choked out.

"You're lying," Mary declared. "You're not capable of doing any of that. You're shutting me out and releasing me because you don't think there's any reason why I would stay with you now that you've taken care of my scandal, and because you would never use my scandal to force me to stay with you."

"Well, that's nonsense," Matthew hesitated.

"You're trying to be brave, and selfless, yet again," Mary whispered, her lips now mere inches from his. "But I know you've dared to wonder why it took me months before I attempted to carry out Sir Richard's order, and why I couldn't do it in the end, why I would rather die than betray you."

Matthew remained silent.

"And I'm certain that you heard me before I pulled the trigger last night," Mary continued. "I told you that I could be happy with you."

"You also said that you could never be happy," Matthew noted.

"Yes, but that was before you found the solution that I could not," Mary countered.

Matthew blinked.

"I don't deserve another chance from you, Matthew," Mary shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "You're well within your rights to want nothing to do with me outside of the office. But, please, please, don't throw me over because you think I could never love you, or that we can't live our lives together after everything that's happened. I can't tell you how or if you'll be able to fully trust me again, but I know I want to be with you, on any terms."

Matthew's mouth fell open. He shut it quickly, then looked down between them.

"You never moved your things out of the closet, did you?" he asked quietly.

"No," Mary answered, desperately trying to read his expression. "I was hoping that I wouldn't need to just yet."

Matthew reached his hand out and brushed against her fingers. Mary clasped his hand immediately, not daring to speak.

"I suppose it would be rude to cast you out into the darkness at this late hour," Matthew said softly, lifting his head and catching her hopeful eyes. "I'm quite tired. It's been a rather long day. I think I'll turn in."

Mary nodded and followed him into the bedroom, her hand still holding tightly to his.


	13. Chapter 13

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015**

"You're trying to be brave, and selfless, yet again," Mary whispered, her lips now mere inches from his. "But I know you've dared to wonder why it took me months before I attempted to carry out Sir Richard's order, and why I couldn't do it in the end, why I would rather die than betray you."

Matthew remained silent.

"And I'm certain that you heard me before I pulled the trigger last night," Mary continued. "I told you that I could be happy with you."

"You also said that you could never be happy," Matthew noted.

"Yes, but that was before you found the solution that I could not," Mary countered.

Matthew blinked.

"I don't deserve another chance from you, Matthew," Mary shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "You're well within your rights to want nothing to do with me outside of the office. But, please, please, don't throw me over because you think I could never love you, or that we can't live our lives together after everything that's happened. I can't tell you how or if you'll be able to fully trust me again, but I know I want to be with you, on any terms."

Matthew's mouth fell open. He shut it quickly, then looked down between them.

"You never moved your things out of the closet, did you?" he asked quietly.

"No," Mary answered, desperately trying to read his expression. "I was hoping that I wouldn't need to just yet."

Matthew reached his hand out and brushed against her fingers. Mary clasped his hand immediately, not daring to speak.

"I suppose it would be rude to cast you out into the darkness at this late hour," Matthew said softly, lifting his head and catching her hopeful eyes. "I'm quite tired. It's been a rather long day. I think I'll turn in."

Mary nodded and followed him into the bedroom, her hand still holding tightly to his.

 **Chapter 13:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew's bed at the Shangri-La is perhaps the most luxurious bed that Mary's ever slept in. She considers herself an expert on beds. From a young age, she valued her sleep, mainly because she was always so busy that she usually lacked for it. When she moved from Downton Abbey to London for sixth form, she brought her bed with her to Grantham House. From her university years through to now working a job that has her at the casinos late into the evenings and often on weekends, it was absolutely imperative that her bed be as comfortable as possible, so that the moment her head hits her pillow, she's halfway to R.E.M. sleep.

Matthew's bed isn't just a comfortable piece of furniture though; it's an experience.

First, it's an overgrown King, meaning it's larger than a normal King-size bed, in the same way that the twenty-stone Henry VIII, who was so fat that he had to be lifted on to his horse using a hoist, was still considered just as much a King as his younger, more svelte self. The bed is immense, and could probably accommodate five adults comfortably. Beyond the sheer amount of space though, the most lavish feature is the Frette linens – French bedsheets made to a 1,000 thread count specification. Thread count, Mary knows from experience, refers to the number of horizontal and vertical threads woven into a single square inch of fabric. In theory, the higher the number of threads, the more comfortable the sheets. 300 thread count sheets are considered soft. 400 are considered extravagant. 500 or 600 are getting into rarefied air of plushness and comfort. Matthew's linens are 1,000 thread count. In theory, the human body should not be able to tell the difference between 600 and 1,000, but Mary thinks whoever said that never slept in a bed like Matthew's. These linens don't just comfortably support her weight; they're practically massaging her into blissful relaxation.

The past few months have allowed Mary to know his bed well. She's fallen asleep instantly in its soothing confines. She's curled against the pillows and literally purred in contentment as the stress of the work day melted away. She's clawed fistfuls of it in her hands, and bitten down on it with her teeth and hung on for dear life while Matthew's ravished her over and over. She's eaten, read, worked, napped, slept and fucked on this bed, luxuriating in its caress and warmth. Once she lies down and closes her eyes to sleep, Matthew's bed easily carries her off to restful slumber.

Tonight, though, Mary can't sleep.

She turns away from staring emptily at the elegant wainscoting on the bedroom ceiling to glance over at Matthew once again. He's still facing away from her, his bare back partially covered by the duvet, his blond head resting on the pillow. Once they came into the bedroom, he released her hand and went about getting ready for bed without saying a word, eventually disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. Mary spent a lengthy time in the walk-in closet that she's commandeered in the past months, looking through her clothes and wondering what she should wear. Did he want her to dress up for him? Was she supposed to be adorned in her most revealing lingerie when he came out of the bathroom? Would this be the first night in a long journey to earn his forgiveness, where she would earn his trust again by acting out his every fantasy and following his every order without question?

She had her choices down to her red garter and stockings and the black bra and thong she had worn on their first night together, when she heard him come back out of the bathroom and get into bed. Daring to peek her head out of the closet to see whether he was waiting for her, she blinked in surprise to see him under the duvet with his eyes closed, obviously intending to go to sleep, and nothing else. Frowning as she went back into her closet, she eventually settled on one of his dress shirts and a normal pair of panties and shuffled off to bed. He didn't say anything or move towards her when she slipped in next to him. After looking at him for several moments and getting no reaction, she turned off the lights and lay down to sleep.

That was two hours ago.

Mary didn't know what she expected, but this wasn't a side of Matthew she was used to seeing. He could be petulant, of course, and stubborn and full of himself, particularly when feeling rather self-righteous, but one thing he never was with her was unfeeling. They never slept apart in the months they were together, and by "apart" she meant literally never physically apart. He always had to be in touch with her. Matthew loved spooning the most, even when they were hot and sweaty from sex. Most nights, he was content to have her rest her head on his chest and shoulder, and even if they would separate during the evening, his hand would invariably find its way back to rest on her hip, or across her waist, or in her cleavage. At first, she assumed it was but a coincidence how he always reached out for her. After a week, she guessed he was just needy. A month into sleeping with him, though, and she'd grown so used to it that she usually initiated the contact first.

Tonight, Mary thought that Edith and Sybil could both fit quite comfortably in the gulf between her and Matthew in the middle of the bed.

She wasn't angry about it. How could she be? Didn't she just tell him she would have him on any terms? This was real life, not a romance novel. One did not plot to kill one's boyfriend, then have it all forgiven with a tear-filled apology and a night of sex.

Not that she wasn't fully prepared to try that.

Mary swallowed and closed her eyes again. It was naïve to think that everything would be normal between them after the revelations from earlier. Of course Matthew needed time to feel comfortable again with her, to be as open and loving as he was before. She would have to be patient, and she resolved that she would be. She could do this. She wanted to do this. She needed to do this. Matthew had literally risked his life for her. How easy it would have been for him to expose her scandal to her parents, or have her removed from the company over her dealings with Sir Richard. Mary didn't want to think about it, but Matthew could have taken a far more ruthless option once he discovered the gun in her purse. He was entirely capable of being far more lethal. Everyone knew that. The story of how he got his revenge on his father's murderers had reached mythological status in their circles. Mary was well aware of how these things went. In their world, betrayal was punished severely. Kill or be killed. Despite all of that, Matthew had spared her.

She was alive. She was still in his bed. They were still a couple, as tenuous as their relationship now was. It would take some doing, but this could be fixed. She would remain calm and understanding, and wait for him to come around when he was ready.

Mary turned on to her side, facing Matthew's back. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, she closed her eyes and tried once more to fall asleep.

 **Bitexco Financial Tower, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, February 2015**

"You're sure this is all of it?" Rose asked, staring at her computer screens as she scrolled through the file list.

"I separated out the files myself," Jack nodded. "It's an exact image of his personal computer, his office workstation and whatever was synched to his Cloud accounts and his mobile at the time we hacked into the network. What are you looking for, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Rose frowned. "But when I find it, I'll be sure to tell Matthew, not you."

"Understood," Jack smiled.

Rose gave him a conciliatory smirk before going back to her review. "Any activity coming from the target?"

"Nothing that's gotten through," Jack shook his head. "The IP addresses were scrambled as we went along, so even if they were able to trace the connections back, they wouldn't be able to find us here. We're safe."

"Where did you redirect them to?" Rose asked, taking a sip of her tea without looking away from the computer monitors.

"A government office in Edinburgh," Jack smiled. He shrugged when Rose looked up at him with a grin. "Seemed fitting," he said.

"Well done, Mr. Ross," Rose nodded. "That will end the special project, as far as you and the others are concerned. You can resume our normal operations, just keep track of any attempted connections from London that are outside of the gambling websites."

"Yes, Lady Rose," Jack nodded, turning for the door and heading back to his cubicle.

Rose opened up a list of email messages taken from Sir Richard Carlisle's computer during the staged cyber attack. She skimmed through the messages, disregarding most of them as boring conversations about business that she had no interest in. She sighed as she kept reading, wondering if sifting through gigabytes of data was going to bear fruit. Taking up her tea cup once again, she shook her head and continued on. Matthew was adamant that she personally handle this particular part of the task, and she had to see it done, regardless of how tedious it would be. Rose smiled wryly, admiring Matthew's foresight in delegating the assignment personally to her rather than to anyone else.

Lady Rose MacClare was many things – young, impetuous, spontaneous, sometimes reckless. Most of her family had written her off numerous times already, thinking she did not have the maturity to be a part of the family business, including her parents and her first cousin, once removed, the Earl of Grantham. But Matthew had always been on her side, from the moment they met during a visit to Downton Abbey when she was a rebellious teenager. They kept in touch, and when she confided to him that she was interested in computer science, rather than becoming a doctor like her parents wanted, he quietly helped put her through school and had a rather unorthodox job waiting for her when she was done. Matthew always said he was a champion of the downtrodden to explain why he was so kind to her, but Rose now knew from years of working for him that it was actually smart business sense. Any IT specialist or computer engineer could run his gambling websites and manage his operations for him. He specifically hired Rose because in addition to her regular duties, she would carry out his special projects without question. She was already part of the family, and even though she was practically an outcast, she still loved her family dearly, and when Matthew told her she needed to do something to help her cousins, nothing would stop her from doing her part.

Rose kept reading emails with renewed vigour. She had never met Sir Richard Carlisle and knew of him only through reputation. All that mattered was that Matthew told her that Sir Richard had dared to mess with her family, and anyone who dared to try that was dead to Lady Rose MacClare.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew opened his eyes, the vague shape of his nightstand lamp coming into focus as he adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom. He slowly turned over to his back, pretending to look up at the ceiling as he stole a glance at Mary.

She was asleep, her eyes shut tight. One of his dress shirts hung loosely on her lithe frame. He saw a glimpse of her pale skin, the expanse of her throat and neck, his eyes trailed down the folds of the shirt to her cleavage. The duvet had slipped from her arm and bunched across her hip. He reached out a hand to adjust it and cover her, then stopped and pulled back.

Matthew swallowed and watched her for a moment. It took all of his strength not to speak to her or touch her after they had gone to bed. That would have been too easy. He was the wronged one here, the man she had betrayed. How weak and stupid would he be if he opened his arms to her again so easily? Wouldn't that show her he would forgive her anything, regardless of how serious the crime? Wouldn't that make him a pushover, a patsy? If she could get away with this with barely a reprimand, what was next? She would keep going behind his back, hide things from him – a business deal, a scheme, a lover – all safe in the knowledge that even if she were caught, he didn't have the bollocks to punish her for it. No, she had to be made to suffer. It was only fair. He needed to make her grovel and plead and beg for his mercy again and again until he was satisfied. He needed to re-establish his power in their relationship, make it clear that he was the man, the alpha, the superior, and that he would tolerate nothing less than her absolute loyalty.

Matthew frowned as he felt a pulse through his body as he continued to stare at her. Blast his infernal urges! How could he still yearn for her so strongly after the events of the past 24 hours? He had caught her with a gun, for God's sake! A harmless unloaded gun, of course, but she hadn't known that. She had brought a gun to his hotel suite, her intentions clear, even if she lost her nerve at the moment of truth. Shouldn't that count against her? That was in addition to her secret meetings with Carlisle, her considering the unthinkable just to protect her secret, her choosing to align herself with the enemy rather than to confide in him. He should still be furious with her, angry and bitter, not aroused! This wasn't the time to think about… _that_. How could he still want her so desperately?

He blinked, his brow releasing the frown as he watched Mary sleep. He sighed in resignation, breathing out through his nose so as not to wake her up. Of course he wanted Mary. Would there ever be a time that he didn't want her? Even now, his fingers twitched with the urge to tear his dress shirt from her body and make love to her, take her into his arms and let her know through his passion that no matter what, they would be all right, that something so precious, so intimate as what they shared could survive through anything.

But what did they share, truly? Wasn't her entire relationship with him just putting on an act? How could she smile adoringly at him, while planning his demise at the same time? She'd lied to him, after all. Well, technically speaking, she'd chosen not to tell him about her secret and how Carlisle was using it against her, but those omissions were just as damning as lying, weren't they? He had omitted his own secrets from her as well, of course, such as the fact that he knew about her scandal and didn't care about it, that he knew she was being blackmailed and was doing something about it without her consultation, but that was different. He didn't tell Mary any of those things since he wanted to protect her, because he loved her, and it was too dangerous to tell her until Rose completed her mission. Yes, that was it. He lied to her to protect her. She lied to him to protect herself, or at least because she was too scared to tell him.

Scared. Fear. Wasn't he scared as well? He was terrified. Death didn't concern him. Carlisle wasn't the first man to want him dead. It was almost an occupational hazard given what they did. He was more concerned about what would become of him and Mary once their plans were revealed. Saving her from Carlisle was his priority, but he had enjoyed having her at his side for the past months. He would find himself forgetting about her scandal, and his plan, and simply be happy with her, believe, if only for a brief moment, that they were a real couple. In those moments, when he thought her smile as genuine, her touch was the most incredible thing he ever felt, and her laugh was the sweetest song, his life was glorious.

Reaching out his hand, he lifted the duvet up to her shoulder. Rolling away from her again, he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 30 St. Mary Axe, 38** **th** **Floor, London, England, February 2015**

Richard paced back and forth, having abandoned his seat behind his desk a while ago. He constantly looked at his phone, then went back to his desk to check his computer monitor, before wandering to the window and repeating the cycle again.

It had been hours now that his network was back online. He had all of his IT staff working around the clock throughout the weekend to repair the breaches to his security and try to restore the deleted files. The amount of information lost was massive, terabytes of data. The blasted hackers had cut large swaths through his computer servers, gotten to the backup storage drives and even wiped parts of his off-site archives. A threatening email had come through earlier from some crazy group threatening another attack within days if his newspapers and websites did not "Cut the crap and start covering the real problems in the world." They had some poorly written rants about the War in Donbass and Somalia, but were clearly misguided fanatics. He was no closer to figuring out how they had gotten access, though he had heard there were other cyber attacks on the Daily Mail and the New York Post.

His email appeared to all be intact now, and losing the archives wasn't fatal. They could still publish the newspapers and the websites were back online now. He already ordered articles and editorials rewritten, and they would need to rely on the wire services more than he liked, but the business interruption would be minimal.

The larger problem was the damage to his company's reputation. Richard never turned down an opportunity to needle his rivals over the slightest misfortune. He had sent an antique rotary phone to Rupert when the News of the World phone hacking scandal broke. He was still waiting on a reply from the old man. This attack made him appear weak and defenceless, that there were chinks in his armour, ways to expose his secrets. For a man who dealt in information, this could be devastating.

Richard stormed from his office and yelled at the nearest IT worker he could find. Assistants and staff scampered after him, scribbling down notes and taking instructions as he bellowed and blustered. So consumed was Richard by his rage and wanting all of the computer issues fixed that neither Mary, nor Matthew entered his thoughts until much later in the evening.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Mary looked up from her magazine as Matthew came back into the suite. He was drying his hair with a towel as he met her eyes briefly, then continued on to the bedroom.

"Good swim?" she asked lightly.

"Yes," he said, not stopping. "It was fine."

Mary shook her head, then went back to reading. Right, then, so he was still in a mood. She caught him walking out when she woke up this morning and wondered where he was off to. He mentioned he was going up to the pool and left without even asking if she wanted to join him.

While Matthew was off swimming, Mary had the chance to shower and ponder their predicament. Whenever she was in the wrong with any of her past boyfriends, which was rare to be sure, she could easily get back into their good graces by showing a little bit of humility and a lot of skin. Men were predictable that way. Appeal to their ego and they would soon forget whatever they were angry about. She had never done anything this serious before, to be certain, but the idea was the same. She needed to appear contrite and conciliatory for Matthew to start trusting her again.

As she rinsed out her hair, she came to the sad realization that the real problem was Matthew wouldn't be able to take anything she did at face value, at least for the next short while. He refused to believe that she was with him for just him, and no matter what she said or did to try and convince him otherwise, he would still think she had a hidden agenda of some sort.

It was peculiar, she thought, as she changed into a blouse and jeans and went out into the living room. Both she and Matthew had kept secrets from each other through their relationship, but she had no doubt that he still loved her, despite what he said. Maybe it was the fact that he was infatuated with her since they were young, whereas her feelings for him had only come about very recently, but she still took everything Matthew said at face value. It was painfully obvious that he did not see her the same way, at least not now.

His curt response to her friendly inquiry confirmed her theory when he came back from his swim. Seduction, unfortunately, was not going to do her any good. He would see that as just another ploy, a way to lull him into a false sense of security, to gloss over their real issues. Matthew would need to be shown that they were more than that, more than two good looking, rich, smart, successful people who happened to have incredible sex together. He would need to realize that what he knew about them together was, in fact, real.

Mary frowned and was stirred from her inner monologue at the sound of her mobile ringing. Reaching for it, she arched an eyebrow when she looked at the call display and put the headset over her ear.

"Carson," she said carefully.

"Lady Mary," Carson's low baritone rumbled in her ear. "His Lordship requests a conference call with you and Mr. Crawley."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Does he?" she said drily. "For what time?"

"Now, my Lady, should it suit you both," Carson replied.

"Of course it would be for right now," Mary rolled her eyes again. "One moment, Carson."

She put the call on mute, then looked up as Matthew came back out of the bedroom, wearing jeans, a loosely buttoned shirt and bare feet.

"What's that about?" he asked her.

"Carson's holding on the line," Mary said, waving her phone at him. "Papa wants to talk to us and isn't willing to wait. Is that all right with you?"

"Sure," Matthew shrugged, taking his mobile out of his pocket. "Is it pertaining to anything in particular?"

"Just the usual, what a colossal failure I am as a daughter and Vice-President," Mary sighed, touching her phone screen to unmute the call. "Carson, Matthew's here. You can call his phone and link us through to Papa."

"Very good, my Lady," Carson said formally. "One moment, please."

"Mary, Matthew?" Robert said gruffly as he came on the line.

"Robert," Matthew answered, going over to the window.

"Hello Papa," Mary said politely.

"Mary, what the devil is going on with your foreign investors? Murray told me that they've terminated the agreement and won't be funding the expansion!" Robert said, his voice thick with agitation.

"Yes, sadly that's true," Mary said. "They've exercised their right to terminate and forfeited their deposit and the initial progress payment."

"Absolutely preposterous!" Robert snarled. "Did you have any idea about this? Why would they suddenly abandon the deal in such a deplorable fashion?"

Mary looked over at Matthew, who was looking back at her intently.

"I assure you, Papa, it came as a great shock to me," Mary said evenly. "However, they are within their rights to withdraw. We built language into the contract to make it rather expensive for them to terminate, but apparently they are willing to pay that price."

"You ought to have done your due diligence more thoroughly, Mary," Robert scolded her. "This has been a complete waste of our time, to say nothing of the lost resources spent on pursuing this plan of yours. I suppose I should be grateful that Edith's crews haven't broken ground as of yet."

"We're still proceeding with the expansion, Papa," Mary said, frowning as she leaned forward on the sofa. "The plans are done and we're ready to go. The real benefit of partnering with Sheikh Mohammed's group was more on the management side, giving us a foothold into Dubai and such. It shouldn't affect our plan to grow Crockfords."

"I committed to fund your expansion plan on the understanding that this foreign money would be coming in, Mary," Robert noted. "That's no longer the case. Making such a large investment without having a partner coming in down the line is foolish. We're better served staying the course and keeping the gains that we've made since Matthew's come in."

"Papa, you can't abandon my project so rashly!" Mary said, rising to her feet and pacing around the living room. "My projections show that we'll recover the cost in under three years! There's no reason to stop now just because we've lost one investor. My strategic plan for the company begins with this expansion."

"Mary, there's clearly a flaw in your plan if some oil barons from Dubai don't have any confidence in it!" Robert retorted. "I was never completely sold on your ideas, and I see now that I'm not the only sceptic. Matthew, what do you think?"

Mary looked over at Matthew. She was about to plead to him with her eyes, but instead she looked away bitterly and sat back down on the sofa.

"Papa, if that's your decision, then I have no choice but to…" she began.

"I think we should proceed with Mary's plan, Robert," Matthew interjected.

"You do?" Robert and Mary both asked at the same time.

Mary looked up at him in disbelief. He swallowed, keeping his eyes on hers.

"The expansion of Crockfords is long overdue, as Mary has said for some time," Matthew said. "The deciding factor for us was never whether we raised foreign capital or not. We all approved her plan because we felt it was a sound decision. That's what I believed, for my part, and I see no reason to change that decision."

Mary blinked in shock.

"It's a great deal of money, Matthew," Robert said. "The economy hasn't completely come back as of yet. This may be a chance for us to pause and step back a bit."

"This is our chance to grow a significant revenue stream from increased tourism, Robert," Matthew continued, not looking away from Mary. "With the economic difficulties in Italy, Greece, Spain and Portugal, England has never been more appealing as a destination. You know how Americans are. They love flash and glamour. Our expansion puts us in an entirely new profile, and I think we should be bold about it."

"Well, that's not the response I would have expected from you," Robert hesitated.

"I understand your concern, Robert," Matthew said kindly. "If it would put you more at ease, we can reduce the company's exposure."

Mary frowned.

"How so?" Robert asked. "You won't find another investor with Edith set to break ground so soon. Will you reduce the scope of Mary's plan?"

Mary swallowed in alarm.

"No," Matthew shook his head at her. "I believe her design is quite appealing. I wouldn't change anything about it."

"Then where will you find additional funds to maintain the same budget?" Robert asked warily.

"I'll pay for it myself," Matthew declared.

Mary's mouth fell open.

"You'll invest personally in this?" Robert exclaimed.

"Yes," Matthew said in a measured tone. "I'll contribute 20% of the cost in return for an equivalent share of the net profits."

Mary shivered.

"That's a substantial cut you're asking for, Matthew," Robert stated.

"It's a substantial investment," Matthew answered. "Unlike you, Robert, I don't get a share of the company profits. My fortune rises and falls on my own operations, net of what I pay to you. Surely you see that I'm taking on a greater amount of risk for the benefit of everyone, and so it's only fair that I should be compensated for that accordingly."

"I suppose," Robert said carefully.

"Or, in the alternative, you can maintain your level of funding and Mary can go ahead with her plans without further delay. The choice is yours, as always. I'm merely giving you an option," Matthew said pleasantly.

Mary held her breath waiting for her father's answer.

"Pay for 15% of the cost and I'll give you 10% of the profits, Matthew," Robert said finally.

"12.5% of the profits and you have a deal," Matthew answered. "And I expect that Mary and I will maintain our same level of autonomy as previously agreed."

"Very well," Robert said. "I'll have Murray draw up the papers. Mary, you may continue, but do be careful about your decisions in the future. We wouldn't want to repeat this conversation again, would we?"

"No we wouldn't, Papa," Mary said, still looking at Matthew. "Thank you, Papa."

"You're welcome," Robert said haughtily. "I'll see the both of you next week for dinner."

They all said their goodbyes and ended the call. Mary slowly removed her headset and watched as Matthew sat down at his desk and began typing away on his laptop.

"Thank you for that," she said quietly. "I know that must have been difficult for you."

"It wasn't difficult at all," Matthew answered crisply, not turning around. "It's a good deal for me that may end up being a great one. I couldn't turn it down."

"I suppose you're wondering why Sheikh Mohammed decided to pull out so suddenly?" she asked, looking down at her lap.

"I did find that rather surprising, yes," Matthew said. "I suspect it wasn't as simple as he changed his mind on doing business with a group of casino owners?"

"It was Sir Richard," Mary said bitterly, rubbing her hands together. "He had a connection within Sheikh Mohammed's organization and made some rather pointed comments about Patrick. Apparently that was enough to give the Sheikh pause about investing with us."

Matthew stopped typing and stared out the window at the River Thames.

"Why would Carlisle want to sabotage your deal?" he asked. "He doesn't have any interests in Dubai."

"He did it to punish me," Mary said, closing her eyes for a moment before continuing. "When I…didn't follow through with his orders on Valentine's Day, he wanted to show me there were consequences for my inaction."

"I see," Matthew said tightly, going back to typing.

Mary silently cursed the direction their conversation had taken. Matthew obviously had a right to know why the Abu Dhabi group had withdrawn from their agreement, but raising the subject of the assassination plot obliterated any progress they'd made when he surprisingly went against her father and took her side over the expansion financing.

"You've bound yourself to this project for some time now, you know," Mary noted, desperate to fill the silence between them with something less contentious. "As a major investor, you have a right to have input and influence."

"I don't expect any authority over your project beyond what I already had as Managing Director," Matthew replied. "I only stepped forward to keep Robert off your back. The money's yours to spend as you wish."

"That's very generous of you," Mary said, looking over at him.

"I'm an investor, not a partner," Matthew said plainly. "There's no need to make it out to be anything more than it is."

"Quite right," Mary said, forcing a tight smile to her lips. "Still though, it will be years before you're repaid in full. I would hope you don't plan on leaving us until we've had a chance to prove ourselves worthy of your faith."

Matthew turned his head and caught her stare. Blue eyes met brown, and Mary struggled to interpret what he might be silently trying to tell her.

"I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon," Matthew stated finally.

Mary nodded, giving him a slight smile before he turned away and went back to his work.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

"Mary, we've received a request from the High Limit Room for you to stop in for a visit," Anna said, coming into her office.

"A request? From who? Is it Tony again?" Mary frowned, not looking up from the ledger she was reviewing on her desk.

"No, Lord Gillingham isn't due in until tomorrow," Anna said. "Jimmy didn't say who it was. He just called up to say you'd been asked after."

"Fine, I could use a bit of a walkabout, I suppose," Mary shrugged, capping her pen and getting up from her chair. "Is Matthew here?"

"He and Alex had a meeting at Maxims," Anna said.

"Ah," Mary said, slightly disappointed. The past few days had seen very little warmth between her and Matthew. Their conversations were cordial and they continued to share his bed, but they were more roommates and co-workers than lovers at the moment. Matthew's frequent meetings outside the office had also kept them apart more than usual, which didn't help.

"Shall I have William accompany you?" Anna suggested as they came out into the hallway.

"Why not?" Mary smiled. "I'm sure whoever it is will be harmless, but let's not have another incident like when those American basketball players came to visit."

Anna laughed and went to fetch William from his office.

* * *

"I could have checked the video cameras before you came down, Lady Mary," William said as they walked past the roulette tables and towards the private room reserved for the more serious players.

"There was no need," Mary shook her head. "Even if it isn't one of our regulars, it's no trouble just to come and say hello. Some people may remember me from the Entertainment or Fashion pages and so they ask for me when they come through. If the worst thing they ask for is a selfie, then I'm not too bothered by it."

William smiled and kept quiet as they came into the High Limit Room.

"The gentleman playing alone at the Hold 'Em poker table in the back right corner, Lady Mary," the host informed her. "He asked that you join him for a hand."

"What's he drinking?" Mary asked, peering across the room at a tall, thin man with brown hair wearing a dark grey business suit.

"Grey Goose, neat," the host replied.

"Interesting," Mary nodded. "William, you can remain here. I should be all right with our guest."

"Yes, my Lady," William said.

Mary walked briskly over to the table. The man turned and smiled at her as she approached.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he said, standing up and taking her hand.

"Welcome to Crockfords," Mary smiled politely. "Mr.?"

"Cyril Hightower," the man nodded. "I know you must be quite busy, but I was hoping you would play a few hands with me."

Mary sat down at the poker table and nodded to Jimmy. "I usually don't, but seeing as you're by yourself, I'll make an exception," she said.

"Thank you, Lady Mary," Cyril said, taking his seat next to her.

Jimmy set aside a stack of chips for Mary to play with. Cyril took a sip of his drink, then addressed the dealer.

"Please add Lady Mary's chips to my account," he nodded.

Jimmy looked to Mary for confirmation. Mary smirked and nodded to him.

"We're both playing with your money, are we?" she smiled. "That somewhat defeats the purpose of gambling, doesn't it?"

"Normally, yes," Cyril laughed. "However, tonight I'm fortunate enough to have a backer supplying my bankroll."

"Ah, so you have deep pockets," Mary noted.

"Something like that, yes," Cyril nodded. "I find that it makes the game more exciting when playing with another person's money."

"It does allow one to be more reckless, potentially," Mary nodded.

"I certainly hope so," Cyril smiled. "May I order you a drink, Lady Mary? A Cosmopolitan, perhaps?"

"Thank you, but I think I'll have my usual," Mary said, looking over at the server standing by and nodding her head. The girl departed quickly to fill the order.

Cyril placed his initial big blind bet on the table. Mary followed with her small blind. Jimmy dealt each of them two cards.

"To you, Lady Mary," Jimmy said.

"Call," Mary said, matching Cyril's bet.

"Check," Cyril nodded.

Jimmy dealt the three turn cards. Mary glanced at them briefly, then waved her hand to check the bet over to Cyril. Cyril reached for his chips and bet £5,000.

"Call," Mary said, placing her chips in the pile.

Jimmy dealt the turn card. Mary checked again. Cyril bet another £5,000 and Mary called shortly after.

Jimmy dealt the river card. Mary checked once more.

"I sense a trap, Lady Mary," Cyril said, glancing at his cards before setting them back down on the table face-down.

"Well, it will cost you to find out, Mr. Hightower," Mary smiled.

Cyril smiled and bet £15,000 this time. Mary arched her eyebrow, but did not touch her cards.

"Louis XIII cognac, Lady Mary," the server announced, placing a tulip shaped glass on a napkin next to her.

"Thank you," Mary said, not looking at the server. She took a sip of the drink and set the glass back down slowly.

"Call," Mary announced. She turned over her cards and placed them near the community cards on the table. "Full house, Queens over Kings."

Cyril shook his head and passed his cards back to Jimmy without turning them over. "Well done, Lady Mary."

"Thank you," Mary smiled, taking another sip of her drink as Jimmy organized her winnings into stacks of chips. "And thank you to your mysterious benefactor."

Cyril took a gulp of vodka and looked past Mary to the front of the room.

"You're in luck, Lady Mary," he said, getting up from his chair. "You can thank him yourself."

Mary blinked at his words, then turned her head to see who he was looking at. She pursed her lips and kept her expression neutral as an older man arrived at their table.

"Lady Mary," the older man said, kissing her cheek and taking a seat next to her.

"Sir Richard," Mary replied.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, February 2015**

"Charles Blake," Alex announced, bringing up a photograph of the man in question on the large television screen mounted on the wall.

Matthew looked at the image carefully, his fingers on his chin.

"Served in Her Majesty's Navy to help pay for university," Alex explained. "During this time he served on the HMS Iron Duke, Type 23 Class Frigate, where he met a young Lieutenant…"

"Named Tony Foyle," Matthew said, watching as a photograph of Charles and Tony flashed across the screen.

"It's not entirely clear how Blake came to know Mabel Lane Fox, but however he did meet her, it was independent of his friendship with Lord Gillingham," Alex said.

"And now?" Matthew asked.

"Blake's been working for Revenue & Customs for seven years," Alex said. "More recently, he's been heading up a special task force with MI:5 investigating organized crime. HMRC catches someone for tax evasion or tax fraud, and in the course of the investigation, MI:5 gets them to squeal on the more nefarious activities. So far, his biggest catch was the Clerkenwell Crime Syndicate a few years ago."

"The Adams family," Matthew nodded. "They got Terry Adams on a single count of money laundering."

"They did," Alex nodded. "So the question now is why is he palling around with Lord Gillingham?"

"Why, indeed?" Matthew said.

"You don't think that Lord Gillingham is helping Blake investigate the Crawley family, do you?" Alex asked.

"He would be mad to do so," Matthew shook his head. "Even if HMRC gave him immunity, his own family would disown him for breaching the code and going against Robert. Besides, Tony would never do anything against Mary, never in a million years."

"So what is this, then?" Alex asked, motioning to the screen where a video of Blake and Tony playing poker at Crockfords was playing. "Just a couple of old friends discovering a new love for cards?"

"As strange as it sounds, it may be just as harmless as that," Matthew said.

"Except we know that Lord Gillingham had a motive for Patrick's death," Alex pointed out. "What if Patrick showed him the video and was blackmailing him with it?"

"You're speculating," Matthew replied. "We have no evidence that Patrick ever showed the video to Tony, or even let him know that he had it, unless you discovered something else on the flash drive that we found."

"Not as of yet, no," Alex shook his head. "But I don't think it's too far out there to suggest that a man doesn't hide an illicit video on a secret encrypted flash drive placed in the toilet unless he's using it for some purpose."

"So what do you suggest? That we confront Tony with the video?" Matthew asked.

"It would at the very least allow us to gauge his reaction," Alex said.

"I expect his reaction would be similar to that of any man who is confronted with a video of his romp with a prostitute. I also expect he won't break down and immediately confess to killing Patrick, regardless of whether he did or not," Matthew said.

"If you want to find out what Charles Blake is doing coming around Crockfords all of a sudden, and why Patrick had a video of Lord Gillingham and Ethel Parks, apparently filmed without his knowledge, you're going to have to question the man, that's all I'm saying," Alex said, lifting his hands and shrugging his shoulders.

"I'd rather keep looking for clues. I trust clues rather than people. People can be terribly difficult to understand," Matthew said.

They were interrupted by the ringing of Matthew's phone.

"It's William," Matthew said, bringing the mobile to his ear. "Mr. Mason," he said.

"Mr. Crawley, sir, you need to come back to Crockfords right away," William said quietly.

"Why, Mr. Mason?" Matthew frowned. "Alex and I are in the middle of something, and why are you whispering?"

"You wanted me to let you know if certain persons of interest came to the casino, sir," William said.

"I did," Matthew nodded.

"Sir Richard Carlisle just came in, sir," William hissed. "He's in the High Limit Room with Lady Mary now."

Matthew's eyes bulged.

"We're on our way, Mr. Mason," he said, hanging up the call as he took off for the door and Alex hurried to follow.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

Mary stared at the small pile of chips in the centre of the table. She knew what her cards were and she was waiting on Sir Richard to make the first bet after the flop. Rather than grab her arm roughly and usher her out of the room, he had continued their card game. She was now sitting between Sir Richard and Mr. Hightower, who was obviously an accomplice.

"£5,000," Richard called, placing his chips on the pile.

"I fold," Mary said, pushing her cards over to Jimmy.

"No, she doesn't," Richard declared, motioning to Jimmy to give her the cards back. "You shouldn't be so quick to give up, Mary."

"I take pride in knowing when there's no point in continuing a futile exercise. Call," Mary said, taking her cards back and throwing her chips into the pile.

"Or perhaps you simply need to take a good look at the odds you face before deciding on a course of action," Richard smiled, as Cyril matched their bets.

Jimmy dealt the turn card, looking at Mary curiously.

"£20,000," Richard announced, counting the necessary chips from his stacks and dropping them on the pile.

"That's a rather large bet if you want to encourage me to keep playing this hand. Call," Mary said, adding her chips to the pile.

"You're in a privileged position, Mary," Richard said, taking up his glass of aged Scotch. "You're betting with my money. There's no risk for you at all. You have nothing to lose."

"On the contrary," Mary said, finally turning to meet his gaze with a fierce one of her own. "I've finally learned that playing with you is a losing proposition, Sir Richard."

Cyril folded his cards as Mary held Richard's stare.

Jimmy dealt the river card. Neither Richard nor Mary looked at it.

"All-in," Richard sneered, his eyes narrowing.

"Call," Mary shot back.

Jimmy swallowed nervously.

"Full house, Jacks full of nines," Richard said, looking away from her and turning over his two pocket Jacks.

Mary looked at the table briefly. Sir Richard did not need to wait for the river card. He had his best hand already after the turn card was another nine to complete his full house. She felt his eyes upon her. The winner of the hand didn't actually matter, given that it was all Sir Richard's money that they were gambling with. At the same time, Mary had never played a more important hand in her life.

"A strong hand," she said. "Which explains why you bet the turn so aggressively before calling all-in on the river."

"I don't like to slow play a powerful hand," Richard said. "When I know I hold the cards, I go for the kill."

"You enjoy bullying, don't you?" Mary suggested, her long fingers poised over her cards.

"It's in my nature," Richard smiled. "You know, Mary, there is a beast in every man, and it stirs when he knows he's cornered his prey."

"Well, Sir Richard," Mary smiled, turning to look at him. "When a predator goes in for the kill, it's in that moment that he leaves himself most vulnerable and exposed."

She watched him as she turned her cards over.

"Four of a kind," she said, showing her pocket Nines.

Richard's lip curled for a moment before he cooled his features and gave Mary a thin smile.

"Well played," he said.

"Jimmy, cash out Sir Richard and Mr. Hightower, please," Mary ordered, gracefully getting up from her seat. "They're both leaving."

Jimmy began organizing the chips on the table.

"I'll go see to the car. Lady Mary," Cyril nodded.

"Mr. Hightower," Mary replied, watching Sir Richard's underling walk past William and out of the High Limit Room.

"So you've decided to align yourself with Matthew Crawley. How disappointing of you, Mary," Richard smiled, finishing his Scotch and putting the empty glass down on the table.

"I've come to the conclusion that being known as a poor investor isn't nearly as terrible as being known as a murderer," Mary replied, walking away so that Jimmy would not hear them. Richard fell into step with her.

"That's a very brave position to take, Mary, or a horribly foolish one," Richard replied.

"If you expect me to beg you not to publish, I won't," Mary said. "From what I've read this week, your company has far bigger problems than being concerned about an old story about me, but that's your business. I won't move against Matthew, not now, not ever."

"And you'll spend the rest of your life being passed over and watching as Matthew Crawley runs your family business into the ground? I thought you had more ambition," Richard shook his head.

"The future of Crawley Group will be decided by my family, as it's always been," Mary said firmly. "And I won't be influenced by a competitor, and someone who isn't one of us."

Richard laughed, looking away from her glare. He smiled, then leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"So be it," he hissed. "You've made your choice, and you will live and die by it."

"Sir Richard," a voice called.

Mary blinked and turned around, swallowing as Matthew came to her side.

"Mr. Crawley," Richard smiled, extending his hand. "Pity that you weren't here earlier. Mary and I had a quite delightful time in the private room. It would have been amusing if you had joined us."

"Perhaps next time, I will," Matthew said, shaking the man's hand firmly. "You should give us more notice when you want to come by. If I would have known you would be here, I would have made necessary arrangements to see that you were taken care of."

"Oh, I sometimes prefer dropping by unannounced," Richard replied. "As a guest, it's a rather different experience when they don't see you coming."

The host came over and handed Richard his cheque for the money left over after his loss to Mary.

"Well, I'll be going, then. Mary, thank you once again for your lovely hospitality," Richard nodded.

Mary and Matthew stood by and watched Richard walk out of the casino.

"I didn't know he was coming by, Matthew, I swear it," Mary said as they headed towards the lift.

"I believe you," Matthew said. "He showed up to express his displeasure at the fact I'm still alive, did he?"

"That, and make his usual veiled threats," Mary grumbled. "We'll just have to wait and see if he makes my life a nightmare or not."

"I expect if he had enough to publish, he would have done so by now," Matthew said as they reached the elevator. "It's been nearly a week. He must have known before today that you disobeyed him."

"I don't want to think about it," Mary shook her head as they went inside the elevator. "I'm just glad he's gone."

"How much longer will you be?" Matthew asked.

"Not very," Mary said, looking over at him. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought we could go home if you're all right to leave," Matthew replied. "I think we should order room service, have some wine and…talk."

"All right," Mary nodded. "I'll wrap things up as quickly as I can."

* * *

"Don't you have work to do?" Anna asked, refusing to look up from her computer screen.

"Matthew's gone for the night and the games over in North America will be going on for a few hours yet," Alex smiled, leaning against the doorframe of her office. "So, no, I don't."

"Then why don't you head home?" Anna teased. "Any reason in particular that you're still here?"

"If you must know, I'm hoping to convince a certain woman to join me for dinner," Alex smirked.

"Really? Well, don't let me keep you from such an important mission," Anna replied. "Though I hope you've chosen a very good restaurant. Women can be rather difficult to impress, you know."

"Actually, I was going to cook for her," Alex said, stepping into her office.

"You don't say," Anna shrugged. "And what's on the menu?"

"French onion soup as a starter," Alex said, coming around and resting his hands on her shoulders. "Followed by chicken roasted with lemon and thyme, asparagus and potatoes on the side, and a lovely bottle of wine that is breathing as we speak."

Anna finally looked away from her computer. She turned her head and bit her bottom lip as she looked into his eyes.

"And for dessert?" she asked.

"Key lime pie," Alex smiled. "I've been told it's her favourite."

"That sounds delicious," Anna grinned. She raised her head and kissed him quickly.

"Can we please go now?" he whinged.

"Fine," Anna laughed, patting his cheek as she got up from her desk.

Taking his hand, she walked out into the hallway and towards the elevator. Visions of the meal that awaited her back at his place filled her mind.

"William?" Alex frowned, turning and leading Anna into William's office. "What are you still doing here?"

"Mr. Lewis! Miss Smith!" William said, blinking in surprise. "Oh, I was just going over some photographs."

"Ah," Alex smiled. "Well, don't stay too late, William. I'm sure that whatever you're dealing with can wait until morning."

"Yes, sir," William nodded. "Good night, Mr. Lewis, Miss Smith."

"Good night, William," Anna nodded to him, then pointedly dragged Alex out of the office and quickly over to the elevator.

* * *

William went back to looking at his computer monitors. He frowned as he looked at the slideshow of images for the tenth time. Something had triggered his memory earlier in the day but he was so busy dealing with other matters that he didn't have time to sit down and piece it all together until now. Of course, now that he finally had some time to himself, he forgot what he was looking for.

He sighed and went through the photographs again, consisting of the shots he took when he had accompanied Mr. Crawley and Mr. Lewis to that pub to observe Mr. Tom and the Albanians. He shuddered at the pictures. The Albanians were a fierce looking lot, he thought.

He paused over one photograph that he took when the group of them had just left the pub. It was the clearest shot he had of all of them, the lights of the pub helping display the features of each person rather clearly, despite it being later in the evening.

William frowned as he looked closely at each person. He knew Daniel Tom, of course, but he had no clue who any of the Albanians were. His eyes moved over a tall, thin man with brown hair. This man didn't look Albanian, though William couldn't necessarily describe what a typical Albanian looked like. He stared at the man for several moments, trying to figure out what was so peculiar about him.

William blinked and quickly looked at his second computer monitor. He moved his mouse over a series of photographs taken from Crockfords security footage. Matthew wanted him to maintain an archive of persons of interest, visitors to the casino who Matthew deemed to be individuals that they should keep information on. William knew that Matthew would want photos and video of Sir Richard Carlisle's visit from earlier this evening, so William had saved the footage and taken some freeze frame images as well. He enlarged one of these images on one monitor, and compared it to the photograph from the pub on the other.

"Fuck me," William muttered glancing back and forth several times to make sure he had it right. The tall, thin man with brown hair who had met with Daniel Tom and the Albanians at the Grape & Grain Pub was Cyril Hightower.


	14. Chapter 14

**Previously:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

William went back to looking at his computer monitors. He frowned as he looked at the slideshow of images for the tenth time. Something had triggered his memory earlier in the day but he was so busy dealing with other matters that he didn't have time to sit down and piece it all together until now. Of course, now that he finally had some time to himself, he forgot what he was looking for.

He sighed and went through the photographs again, consisting of the shots he took when he had accompanied Mr. Crawley and Mr. Lewis to that pub to observe Mr. Tom and the Albanians. He shuddered at the pictures. The Albanians were a fierce looking lot, he thought.

He paused over one photograph that he took when the group of them had just left the pub. It was the clearest shot he had of all of them, the lights of the pub helping display the features of each person rather clearly, despite it being later in the evening.

William frowned as he looked closely at each person. He knew Daniel Tom, of course, but he had no clue who any of the Albanians were. His eyes moved over a tall, thin man with brown hair. This man didn't look Albanian, though William couldn't necessarily describe what a typical Albanian looked like. He stared at the man for several moments, trying to figure out what was so peculiar about him.

William blinked and quickly looked at his second computer monitor. He moved his mouse over a series of photographs taken from Crockfords security footage. Matthew wanted him to maintain an archive of persons of interest, visitors to the casino who Matthew deemed to be individuals that they should keep information on. William knew that Matthew would want photos and video of Sir Richard Carlisle's visit from earlier this evening, so William had saved the footage and taken some freeze frame images as well. He enlarged one of these images on one monitor, and compared it to the photograph from the pub on the other.

"Fuck me," William muttered, glancing back and forth several times to make sure he had it right. The tall, thin man with brown hair who had met with Daniel Tom and the Albanians at the Grape & Grain Pub was Cyril Hightower.

 **Chapter 14:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

"Oh, sir! You're so good! So strong! Yes! Yes!"

"Mabel! Mabel!"

Mary blinked several times, wondering whether the video she was watching was actually real. The voices were loud, too loud, and perfectly clear. Besides that, Tony's face was displayed on the large television in all of its straining, grimacing and reddened glory.

Matthew watched Mary carefully, not really wanting to see the video yet again. Having to listen to it was bad enough. He wondered if Mary would be aghast, horrified, shocked by seeing her family friend in such a compromising position. He didn't care much for Lord Gillingham, but he didn't dislike him either. What the man chose to do with prostitutes was his business. Matthew was more concerned about why Patrick had this sordid film, and though it was quite difficult to watch, he had to let Mary know he found it so they could figure out their next step.

Mary covered her mouth with her hand as the grunts and groans of the couple on screen rose in pitch.

Matthew frowned. Perhaps he should turn off the video? There was no point in watching the entire thing, so long as Mary understood who was in it.

Mary snorted.

Matthew blinked in confusion.

"Did you say something?" he asked her.

"No," Mary shook her head quickly. "I was just…thinking."

"Yes, I imagine this must be quite difficult for you to watch," he nodded. "I can turn it off if it's too much for you to bear."

"No, no, it's not that," she shook her head, moving her hand away from her face.

"Oh, then what were you thinking, then?" he asked. "If it was what would possibly move Lord Gillingham to engage in such an...activity, well I can't say that I..."

"I was just thinking that I don't think the real Mabel is nearly that flexible," Mary grinned, then snorted again.

Matthew's eyes widened.

Mary lowered her hand to her stomach and burst out laughing. She closed her eyes and shook her head as she couldn't seem to stop.

"Mary!" he exclaimed.

She was almost crying from laughing so hard now.

"Mary, this isn't funny!" he said indignantly.

"You're right, you're right," Mary managed, taking a deep breath as she calmed herself.

"Oh, Mabel, that feels so good!" on-screen Tony sighed, then groaned loudly.

Mary arched her eyebrow at Matthew.

Matthew swallowed tightly, trying to maintain a serious expression.

"Yes, sir! Give it to me!" Mabel, being portrayed by Ethel Parks, wailed on the television screen.

Matthew smirked and looked down at the floor.

Mary fell back on the sofa and laughed heartily, covering her eyes as she practically shrieked at the ridiculousness of the scene they were watching.

Matthew shook his head and smiled at her, pursing his lips tightly as his chest shook. He finally gave up and chuckled. He tapped his phone screen and turned off the video playback on the television. Looking over at Mary, he met her bright eyes as they both eventually stopped laughing.

"I think that's the first time I've seen you smile all week," she said softly, running her hand through her hair and smoothing it behind her ear.

"Well, while I think it's rude to laugh at another man's performance in the bedroom, I suppose that I didn't expect Tony to be so…vocal," Matthew blushed.

Mary laughed and smiled at him.

"The serious question, though, is what should we do about it?" he asked.

"You think that Patrick showed this video to Tony and that gave Tony a motive to kill him?" she asked.

"It's just a theory, but Patrick does have a history with Mabel, and that's always been a sore spot for Tony. Maybe he only wanted to annoy Tony a bit, maybe he had some larger scheme that required he force him to do something, I don't know," Matthew shook his head. "But Patrick felt this video was important enough that he went to great effort to hide it."

"It's all just speculation at this point," Mary shrugged. She picked up her empty wine glass from the coffee table and got up from the sofa. "We need confirmation, one way or another."

"And how do we get that?" Matthew asked, watching as she went over to the dining table to refill her glass.

"By talking to Tony, of course," she smiled at him from across the room, sipping her wine.

"I thought about that," he frowned. "I highly doubt he would admit to anything."

"Perhaps not to you," she smiled, coming back to the sofa. "Leave him to me. Now, what else did you want to talk about?"

Matthew arched his eyebrows in response to her confidence, then turned his laptop towards her and brought up another browser window.

"This is what we have so far from the surveillance of Daniel Tom and the Albanians," he began.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, February 2015**

"Mmm," Anna smiled, closing her eyes and savouring the last bite of her key lime pie.

"Should I be jealous?" Alex laughed, getting up and clearing the dishes from the table. "You seem to be enjoying the dessert a bit too much."

"Oh, don't worry, babes," Anna smiled, looking over her shoulder at him as he placed the dishes in the sink and came back out of the kitchen. "You did make it for me, so really you can take some of the credit."

"Maybe," he shrugged, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. "Though I think I'd rather be the direct cause of your pleasure, rather than a mere baker."

"Well, the night isn't over yet," she teased, leading him to the living room.

Before they could reach the sofa, there was a frantic knocking at the door.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Anna frowned.

"I don't know," Alex said, looking in the direction of the foyer. "Stay here."

Alex made his way to the front door. Anna followed behind him.

He looked through the peep hole and blinked in surprise. Rolling his eyes at Anna, he stepped back and opened the door.

"William?" Anna exclaimed as the young man came inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lewis, Miss Smith, but I made a bit of a discovery and I needed to tell someone and I didn't want to bother Mr. Crawley at his hotel, and I thought that it would be inappropriate to call or text him, and I didn't think it was proper to contact Lady Mary, not to mention I don't actually have her number, though I could have looked it up on the company directory, I suppose," William explained, speaking quickly.

"Calm down, William," Alex said, directing him into the living room and sitting him down in a chair. Anna came out of the kitchen with a glass of water.

"Here," she said, handing it to him. "Drink."

"Thank you," William nodded gratefully. He took a long drink and put the glass down on the coffee table. "I found something," he nodded. "When I was looking over the security footage from Crockfords and the photographs we took down the pub the other day."

"When you were following Daniel Tom and the Albanians?" Anna asked Alex.

Alex nodded. "What did you find out?" he asked William.

William opened his messenger bag and took out a pile of papers. He shuffled through them on the coffee table, then set out two large colour photographs side-by-side.

"This man, here," William said, pointing to a tall, thin man with brown hair walking out of the Grape & Grain Pub with the Albanians the previous Sunday.

"Yes, he left with one of the Albanians," Alex recalled. "We followed that other fellow."

"We did," William nodded. "But this man, here, I found out who he is."

"Who?" Anna frowned.

"Cyril Hightower," William said, pointing to a photograph of the same man playing poker in the High Limit Room at Crockfords with Mary and Sir Richard Carlisle.

"The man who came in with Sir Richard," Anna said.

"Should we tell Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary?" William asked.

Anna looked over at Alex.

"In the morning," Alex said. "No one knows that we've made the connection, so that gives us the advantage."

"Thank you, William," Anna said, patting the young man on the back. "But you should go home. That's enough excitement for one night, I think."

"Yeah, I feel better now that I've been able to tell someone," William nodded, getting up from his chair and collecting his papers.

They waited until a taxi arrived to take William back to his place, Alex insisting the man get a cab rather than take the Tube. Alex and Anna both bid him goodnight and watched him get into the taxi before closing and locking the door.

"What would Sir Richard be doing with the Albanians?" Anna asked as they turned off the lights and headed for the bedroom. "And why would he have them following Lady Edith and Lady Sybil, and us?"

"I haven't a clue," Alex said, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her down the hall. "But I expect Matthew and Lady Mary will be very interested to hear all about it tomorrow."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Mary made sure to beat Matthew to the bathroom tonight. She had come back to his hotel suite expecting a long heart-to-heart over their relationship – how they were feeling, what they were doing, where they were going – and in the car on the way over she had resolved that she would apologize again for everything – for treating him so horribly from when they were younger, for berating him when he was summoned by her Papa to London after Patrick's death, for the entire mess with Carlisle and for bringing a gun with her to his suite. She was even willing to take the blame for Manchester United losing to Swansea City for the second time this season at the weekend. She expected he would have conditions, things she would need to do to win back his trust so they could move on. Terms such as no more secrets between them, promises to be honest and forthright about everything, no matter the shame or hurt involved. As long as Matthew's demands weren't too unreasonable, she was prepared to do her penance. Perhaps he would even make her punishment a bit…fun.

Matthew had made small talk over dinner, a delicious room service meal that included a surprisingly excellent Malbec wine. Mary didn't mind that they kept the conversation light while they ate. Discussing affairs of the heart while eating was a dangerous thing, and she expected she would need energy to deal with the weight of all that remained unspoken between them.

Strangely though, after the meal was finished and they retired to the sofa in the living room, Matthew told her in a very formal tone that he had some findings from his various investigations to share with her. She hadn't expected that. She was even more taken aback by his disclosing the existence of Patrick's secret USB drive and the encrypted files. Nothing, of course, could prepare her for the video of Tony and the prostitute that he pretended was Mabel. She still felt the urge to laugh out loud at the mere thought of the poor man huffing and puffing away over the petite woman, who was obviously faking it. Well, maybe that part of the roleplay was more authentic to Mabel than anything else, Mary smirked.

Mary was glad to see the mood between them had lightened after they finished with the video. It was a small thing, smiling, joking, laughing together, something they did easily and without thinking for the past four months. Matthew surprised her again though when he proceeded to take her on a detailed presentation of Daniel Tom's movements and meetings. The tailing of Edith and Sybil seemed to have stopped recently, thank God, but they were no closer to finding out what the Albanians were doing in all this.

With that topic exhausted, Matthew made some cursory comments on the financials at the casinos under his control – Maxims and The Palm Beach – as well as his initial review of the appeal materials filed by Phil. Mary wondered whether she was on a dinner date with her boyfriend, or attending a board meeting.

It was past midnight when she confirmed that he was quite finished. She gave him yet another opening to talk about them, but he simply went on with checking his laptop for updates from his gambling websites. She got up and went straight into the bedroom and began getting ready for bed. She took over the bathroom when he came in later and went to his closet to change. As she busied herself with her nightly rituals, she became more and more perturbed. Patience was hardly one of her strong suits, and perhaps it was a bit unreasonable to expect a full-on discussion over their problems just days after she tried to kill herself in front of him, but she was becoming increasingly frustrated with him.

Yes, she had made a horrible mistake. Yes, things were tense between them. But Matthew was hardly innocent either, and his continuing passive aggressive stance wasn't helping anything. For someone who was so quick to face issues and problems in business head-on, Matthew was being stubbornly evasive when it came to their personal life. He could have saved all the talk of work for tomorrow. How long was he going to allow the lingering issues they had to drag on unaddressed?

So, tonight Mary made sure she was ready for bed first, and that she was seated against the pillows before he finished in the bathroom. He wasn't going to be able to tuck himself under the duvet and fall asleep on her this time. If she annoyed him or angered him by forcing him to deal with her on this, so be it. They were barely acting like a couple as it was.

"You know, when you mentioned we should come back here for dinner and a talk, I wasn't expecting a full-on multimedia presentation on the state of the company," she smiled as he came to bed.

"I wanted to make sure you knew everything that I did," Matthew replied plainly. "Tonight seemed as good a time as any, and besides, it's easier to do it here. Crockfords can be so distracting at night, with all the demands on your time."

Mary frowned slightly. "You don't like sharing me, do you?" she teased.

Matthew stopped organizing his pillows for a moment, not looking at her when he answered. "I know you have a job to do, and you do it very well, it's just that having your undivided attention is much harder when we're at the office, is all. At any given moment, some whale or VIP could walk through the door and monopolise your time."

Mary rolled her eyes as Matthew finished with his pillows and set about folding the top of the duvet across his waist.

"Well, I'm glad you were there to help me see Sir Richard off," she said pleasantly, choosing to put a name to Matthew's insinuation. "He orchestrated an entire scheme to get in to see me, you know. He had a flunky go into the High Limit Room first and start playing with a pile of chips. No doubt he knew that I would never go down to see him if he showed up himself at first, so he had this Mr. Hightower corral me downstairs before he moved in afterwards. It was ghastly."

"I'm not surprised," Matthew said with disinterest, sitting back against the pillows and glancing at his mobile. "Carlisle probably has a scheme for every possible occasion."

"It was an admittedly small victory, but a victory nonetheless to see him slither away," she said, undeterred. "I also managed to win a fair amount of money off of him."

"Mmm hmm," he replied, swiping his finger across his phone screen.

"Matthew, could you please not bring your mobile to bed?" she asked. "We should have one place that is at least free of distractions."

"Did you not tell me when I first arrived months ago that we handle business at all hours?" he asked, looking at his phone screen. "Games are just starting in North America and I need to track the bets."

"Then you have a few hours yet before you'll be able to find out the results," she retorted. "Put the phone away, Matthew."

Matthew furrowed his brow for a moment, then set his phone on the nightstand before turning back to her.

"I think we should have a proper talk," she said.

Matthew looked down at the duvet. "What do you hope to accomplish by this 'talk'?"

"If you're thinking that I'm looking for forgiveness or a promise that you won't bring up what I did again every time we argue, I'm not," she said, causing him to look up at her curiously. "However I'm quite certain that we need to at least talk about what's happened between us, rather than avoiding it and thinking at some point in the future everything will magically resolve itself."

Matthew hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "All right," he said. "But I warn you, if you mean to preach or make excuses…"

"I have no intention of doing either," she huffed. "I just want to talk. We've never had any problem saying what's on our minds about anything else, have we, Matthew? Why should this be any different?"

"Fine," he nodded. "We can talk."

Mary sat against the pillows, leaning on her elbow and turning on her side to look at him.

"What do you see when you look at me?" she asked.

"What?" he frowned.

"When you look at me," she repeated. "What do you see? What do you feel?"

"I…" he stammered. "I see you. I see Mary."

"The Mary that you've always known?" she asked. "Or someone else?"

Matthew took a deep breath, struggling to answer. "Well, you're not the same Mary that I knew. I've learned more about you these past four months than I knew all the years before. Obviously seeing you each and every day is different than visiting you twice a year growing up."

"Yes," she nodded. "And now that you know me better, is your opinion of me as high as it was before, or worse?"

"Higher," he said quietly. "Before I had never seen you at work, seen you perform and juggle your responsibilities and manage your division and so on. Now I know how capable you are."

"Yes, and?" she encouraged him.

"And…I've seen how much you love your family and your sisters, even Edith," he said. "How you try and maintain this cold façade, but deep down you do have a heart and you are nice, and you would do anything for the ones you…"

"The ones I…" she said slowly.

"The ones you love," he said, looking at her.

Mary returned his gaze, remaining silent for several seconds.

"And what I did," she said finally, glancing down, then back up at him. "It disappointed you."

"You were young," he replied. "You thought you were making a sound investment decision. It was a mistake, but in some ways, an understandable one."

Mary nodded. "And the matter with Carlisle?"

Matthew swallowed. "Yes," he nodded. "I was disappointed in you for that, yes."

"And that's changed how you feel about me," she stated.

He paused briefly. "Yes," he said.

"Irrevocably?" she asked.

He met her stare. "No," he said quietly. "Not irrevocably."

"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Matthew?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"I see a man," she began. "Who is smart, and funny; a man who is direct and decisive, who works hard and demands a lot of himself and those around him."

Matthew pursed his lips and swallowed.

"I see a man who is very handsome," she smiled. "But acts like he doesn't know it, which makes him insufferably even more attractive as a result."

Matthew chuckled for a second, then went quiet once more.

"And I see a man who is willing to sacrifice for those he loves," she said pointedly. "Who puts those he cares about before himself, almost to a fault."

"Mary…" he mumbled.

"I see a wonderful, beautiful, brilliant man," she continued. "But a man who just needs to get out of his own way sometimes."

Matthew frowned.

"When I came to you that first night, Matthew," she said, looking down at her hands. "It's true that I had already met with Sir Richard and he already told me what the price would be for him to protect my secret. But I didn't go to you because of that. I know it may seem as though I did, but I came here that night for my own selfish reasons. I wanted to take advantage of you, of your feelings for me. I intended to use you and leave you, so you would see that you could never have me unless I took pity on you. I wanted to put you in your place, so that you would know who held the power between us, and so that would cement my position within the company."

Matthew clenched his teeth and looked away.

"But that night, I felt something for you," she said earnestly. "It wasn't just the sex, though that was quite amazing. It was the way you ran your fingers through my hair, the way you held me, the way you looked at me. You were so…gentle, and considerate, and kind. By the next morning, I didn't want to leave. And I didn't think about Sir Richard's scheme, or mine, at all. Not for one moment."

Matthew blinked.

"These last four months have been the best four months of my life," she nodded. "Even with all the hassles and stress at work, and losing the Abu Dhabi investment, we've made real progress in the business, and I've had your support the entire way."

Matthew sighed.

"You've known about Sir Richard's hold on me for months, and I suppose you still wonder why I didn't trust you enough to come to you for help. We both know I'm not very good at that sort of thing – asking for aid. But it wasn't just that. You see, I didn't see a way out of my dilemma, and the only thing I could think to do was to keep putting him off and putting him off and enjoy the time I had with you. I thought that by telling you, I would surely lose what I valued most – your kindness, your consideration, your love. It was selfish of me, I admit, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't sully what was one of the most beautiful things I knew."

Matthew looked up at her cautiously.

"I'm not telling you all of this because I expect you to forget about what happened, or even to understand what I was going through. I'm telling you this because I love you. I've loved you for much longer than I knew. You may hate me for what I did, and maybe we'll end up apart in the end, but I didn't spend these last four months with you because of Sir Richard, or my scandal, or because of some bloody scheme. I spent these last four months with you because of you, Matthew. All because of you."

Matthew closed his eyes hard, grimacing slightly before he looked at Mary again.

"I know you're disappointed in me, and I don't know if you'll ever get past that. But if you think that I was…being charitable, or that I meant to mislead you, you're wrong. I love you, and if we never get back to where we were before, I'll still look on the four months we had together as absolutely precious, and nothing will change that."

"I wish I could believe you," he said quietly. "So terribly much."

Mary's voice caught in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. "But?"

"But I'm not sure," he shook his head. "Of you, or of anything else, it seems. The last few weeks have taught me that."

Mary felt her stomach lurch.

"What are you saying?" she asked in fear.

Matthew inhaled deeply. "I'm saying I don't know what… _this_ …is. This thing between us. I don't know what to call it. I don't know what it means. Everything that I thought I knew, both good and bad, has been completely thrown on its head."

Mary frowned, but remained quiet waiting for him to continue.

"When we were younger, I was very attracted to you," he explained. "You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, and despite your treatment of me, I was absolutely enthralled. Everything that you did seemed larger than life to me, and I was lost from that point on."

Mary blushed and smiled, despite the wariness she still felt.

"I never believed that anything would develop between us," he admitted. "It wasn't just that we didn't really get along. It was that I didn't know what I had to offer you that you couldn't find in someone else, in someone more your type, someone better."

Mary looked down sadly.

He went on. "When you came to me, that first night, I suspected that you had an agenda, but then again, so did I, so I wasn't bothered by it. No one really enters into a relationship with full disclosure and on equal terms, so that didn't matter to me. I was glad enough to be with you, and the manner in which it came about wasn't important."

Mary looked back at him with interest.

"It perplexed me, how I could possibly love you enough to endure over these past four months, when I knew all that I knew," he said. "I told myself numerous things to get by, to keep going. I thought I was just living out a teenage fantasy that I had of you as my girlfriend, or I was just doing whatever I needed to do in order to carry out Violet's instructions, or I kept you close because I loved having sex with you and I was just giving in to my primal needs. I came up with any and all justifications and excuses that I could to buy enough time to gather the evidence that Carlisle had against you."

"Because to admit that you did it all out of love made you feel weak," she said.

"No," he shook his head. "To admit that I did it all just because I love you made me feel terrified. It still does."

Mary nodded.

"I just…" he muttered. "When I came back to Crockfords tonight and saw you standing there with Carlisle, I didn't immediately even think about what happened last weekend, or your secret, or his blackmailing you, or any of that. The first thing I thought of, was that, for whatever reason, you took his side. You chose him, over me, and I know that sounds ridiculous because you were in an impossible situation and you thought you didn't have a choice, but I just…I couldn't help but feel that…"

"That I thought you weren't enough for me," she finished for him. "That I'll always think you aren't enough for me."

Matthew swallowed audibly and looked down. After a while, he nodded imperceptibly and spoke in a hushed voice.

"I know it's unfair, and taking things out of context, and making assumptions and all of that," he shook his head. "But you're surrounded, all the time, by these exceptional men. They ask for you at the casino. They look at you when you do your inspections. They probably talk about you, lust after you behind your back, and I know they see in you exactly what I see – a beautiful, intelligent, desirable woman – and all I am, all I have to offer, is just…"

"You're the man I chose, Matthew," she said, reaching out and taking his shaking hand.

He stared at their joined fingers with wide eyes.

"You're the man I've decided to be with," she said, drawing his hand towards her, keeping her eyes on his face as he watched her movements. "Not because of any conditions. Not to pay you back for what you've done for me. Not out of guilt. Not out of duty."

He kept looking at his hand in hers.

"You're the only man who gets to touch me," she whispered, leaning forward and kissing the back of his hand before stroking it across her cheek.

He blinked as she moved his hand down to her chest.

"You're the only man who gets to have me," she said, pressing his fingers against her silk camisole, his hand covering her heart.

"I tried to take my own life, rather than betray you," she said as he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I can tell you about how I love you, and point out all the times over the past four months where we've been happy together, but I can't make you believe any of it, or even tell you that we won't have hard times again in the future."

He nodded, his lips parted.

Mary smiled at him. "But I can show you," she said. "I can show you how much you mean to me, how much I love you, how I want you more than anyone else in the world. And we can try and have a good day together, and another, and another after that, until a day comes where I trust you enough to know you won't let what happened in the past affect our future, and you trust me enough to stop looking over your shoulder to see if someone will come along and steal me away from you."

Matthew leaned forward and Mary did the same. Their foreheads touched, both of their hands coming together between them.

"This won't be easy, you know," he said.

"Anything involving the two of us rarely is, is it, my darling?" she smiled.

"I've missed you," he admitted, swallowing again.

"Likewise," she said.

Mary tilted her head and kissed him softly. A warm thrill went up her spine as his lips pressed back against hers, his mouth opening to deepen their kiss. His arms came around her, pulling her closer, her own hands roaming across his chest and around to his back.

"Mary," he smiled against her lips, easing back slightly after several more pecks.

"Darling," she grinned back.

She laid down and turned away from him, getting comfortable under the duvet. She smiled as Matthew laid down behind her, his arm coming around and hugging her back against him. She covered his hand with hers and closed her eyes.

"Good night," he said, kissing her shoulder, then settling in to sleep.

"Good night. Love you," she smiled, relaxing in his arms.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

"Unbelievable," Mary said, looking at the photographs of Cyril Hightower with the Albanians and gambling at Crockfords from the previous day.

"At least it answers the question as to who put them up to following Edith, Sybil and Anna and Alex," Matthew said grimly, sitting in the chair on the other side of her desk.

"But why would he do this?" she asked. "To put our family under surveillance is a huge risk. If Papa knew…"

"I would rather not involve your father, and his temper, for now. He'll demand a meeting with Carlisle, or with one of the Albanian leaders, or both. Nothing good can come from that," he said.

Anna and Alex looked at each other.

"I agree," Mary said. "For now, Sir Richard doesn't know that we've discovered this. Let's not play this card until we truly want to."

"We can put a tail on Hightower," Alex suggested. "See whether he's meeting up with the Albanians without Mr. Tom there."

"Not a bad idea," Matthew nodded. "So long as we know our people will be discreet."

"Anna, work with Gwen on that," Mary ordered. "Just general surveillance for now. We're not looking to get close to him, just monitor where he goes."

"Got it," Anna nodded, making notes on her tablet.

"It could be that Sir Richard retained the Albanians as a contingency plan," Mary said to Matthew. "Keeping track of everyone's whereabouts and schedule could have been to gather enough information to make a move, if necessary."

"A contingency plan for what?" Alex asked.

"For whatever he's planning," Matthew answered quickly. "We don't think that his visit here yesterday was a coincidence."

Alex nodded, looking at Matthew curiously.

"So we'll continue the surveillance, then," Mary said. "Security has already been increased for Edith and Sybil, so hopefully that's enough. The longer that the Albanians just follow us around, the more time we have to figure all of this out."

"I'll go and talk to Gwen," Anna nodded.

She and Alex left Mary's office.

"Thank you for that," Mary said. "I forgot that you haven't told Alex."

"Have you told Anna?" he asked, rising from his chair.

"No, she doesn't know about any of it," Mary shook her head. "She wasn't working for us when I made the investment."

"Well there's no reason to tell anyone," he nodded. "When do you plan on meeting with Tony?"

"Later tonight," she answered. "I've mentioned to him that I want to have a drink after he's done playing, and I expect that will cause him to show up without Mr. Blake this time."

"Good," he nodded. "I still don't know what to make of our Mr. Blake. I hope he's just developed a new interest in poker and that's it."

"If only we were that lucky," Mary rolled her eyes. "I'll let you know when Tony arrives."

"Oh, there's no need for that," he said, turning for the door.

"Do you not wish to say hello and keep watch on him from afar?" she asked.

"No," he shrugged as he reached her doorway. He turned his head and smiled at her knowingly. "I trust you to handle him on your own."

Mary smiled and nodded as he left to go back to his own office.

 **Penthouse of Patrick Crawley, Soho, London, England, February 2015**

"Got it," the man said, jiggling the door handle a few times before he opened the door and stepped aside for the other to go in ahead of him.

"We have twenty minutes before the power comes back on, starting now," he snarled as they fanned out into the different rooms. "Don't touch anything without wiping it clean when you're done. Anything electronic that you find – mobile, laptop, flash drive, whatever – give it to Bridget to strip down. Everything goes back where you found it. If you're undecided about something, find me or Jim. Let's go."

He wandered the spacious apartment as his team went to work. Paintings were taken off the walls and examined before being put back in place. Books were grabbed off the shelves and rifled through, then returned to their original position. They looked behind all the kitchen appliances, out on the terrace and underneath all the sofa and chair cushions. The entire place was gone over in a methodical and organized manner.

He called out the time remaining in five-minute intervals. As each room was finished, he would send those crew members out the door and back downstairs to the van. The hydro company would have electricity back on shortly, and he did not want to be still here when the cameras came back on and the security guards wandered up for their regular hall inspection.

"Doesn't look like there's anything on his computer," Bridget called, frowning at the screen of a laptop plugged into her tablet. "I've copied his hard drive, so we can look at it later."

"Five minutes!" he called out, heading back down the hall from the bedroom. He dismissed the rest of the crew, going from room-to-room and shutting down the search as he went. Bridget was out the door when he took one last glance around before leaving and locking the door behind him.

The lights flickered as they went down the stairs. He followed Bridget out the side door and quickly got in on the passenger side of the large van parked at the kerb.

"Report back to the client that we're done," he ordered as the van moved down the street. "We'll let him know if we found what he's looking for once we go over the data from the hard drive."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

"Mary," Tony smiled, kissing her on both cheeks.

"Tony," she nodded, taking a seat at the booth table. "How was your luck tonight?"

"Well, the night is still young, but it's going well so far, as I see it," he grinned, taking a seat opposite her.

"I suppose you're wondering why I interrupted your game?" she asked after the server took their drinks order.

"Not at all. I needed a break anyway. Besides, I always have time for you, Mary, you know that," he smiled.

"Yes, and I'm sure that must not go over very well with Mabel. She and I aren't exactly on friendly terms," she replied.

Tony laughed and took a long drink of his brandy.

"No, I suppose you aren't," he shook his head. "But that's all right. I don't think the two of you are meant to be friends. You're not her, and she's not you."

Mary arched her eyebrow at his comment, sipping her vodka and tonic as she prepared herself for the duel to come.

"I was pleased to see that Charles Blake has not accompanied you this evening," she said casually.

"I didn't want to leave him alone while I spent time with you," he explained. "He's just learning the games still, and a bit of a new boy when it comes to playing for higher stakes. It might get expensive if I were to let him play on his own"

"Ah," she smiled. "You've been spending a fair amount of time with your old Navy comrade. He doesn't seem to have left your side each time you've visited us for the past month or longer."

"He's been around a few times, yes," Tony said. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Why don't you tell me? It seems that you may have brought the enemy into our midst, given his occupation," she said lightly.

Tony frowned. "He's not a threat, Mary."

"How can you know for certain?" she asked in annoyance. "His job is investigating families and businesses like ours, Tony. Do you expect me to believe that his showing up here is mere coincidence?"

"You had him checked out," Tony nodded grimly.

"You know how I run this company," she said haughtily. "I don't allow anyone into the private room without knowing exactly what they are all about."

"Oh, but you'll personally host Sir Richard Carlisle here quite happily, won't you?" he replied bitterly.

Mary frowned for a moment before composing herself. "He wasn't invited, if you must know. He's our competition. He's quite aware that he isn't welcome here."

Tony frowned and took another drink.

"What's going on, Tony?" Mary asked with concern. "Why are you spending so much time with Charles Blake, and bringing him here, of all places?"

"Mary, I assure you, it's nothing that you need worry about," he scoffed. "Charles Blake is a friend. It goes no further than that."

"And is your friend aware of what you do for a living and what side of the law you usually find yourself on?" she frowned.

"No, he isn't," he said firmly. "And he has no suspicions about your family either. He just likes gambling from time to time, that's all, and I'm allowing him to tag along with me. I enjoy his company. We've been through a lot together."

Mary shook her head, looking at him suspiciously. "Tony, I truly hope you know what you're doing. Spending time with a member of an MI:5 special task force on organized crime is dangerous, not to mention foolish. I don't want to have to take this to Papa. He would not hesitate to order me to suspend your privileges should you continue to associate with Charles Blake, you know."

Tony's mouth opened in shock. "Lord Grantham is well aware of the bond between our families, as well as my faithful service to yours. I can't believe he would react so drastically to this."

"Papa values the alliance between our Houses, Tony," Mary nodded. "But you know how families like ours work. We follow the code to the letter. And you know that Patrick was never your biggest supporter. Who knows what he said to Papa about you?"

"Patrick!" he spat, rolling his eyes. "If Lord Grantham only knew about how ardently he followed our code!"

"What do you mean?" she frowned. "Patrick had his vices, we all knew that. He was always loyal to our family, though."

"Was he?" he sneered.

"Are you saying you know otherwise?" she demanded.

"I don't want to speak ill of the departed," he growled.

"Come off it, Tony," she shook her head. "I know things were always tense between the two of you because of Mabel, but that was ages ago, honestly."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Mabel," he grunted. "Mabel regrets her time with him, I assure you, but it doesn't matter. It happened before we were together, so despite Patrick reminding me of it constantly, I wasn't bothered by that."

"Then what?" she asked.

"Patrick never respected our code or our rules," he frowned. "All he cared about was himself. He had everything. He was Lord Grantham's favourite and got to work alongside you every day and he took it all for granted. He never showed the proper amount of respect, for our families, for the business, for the code. It was all just a game to him, and so long as he profited in the end, that's all he ever cared about."

Mary watched him closely.

"There were so many times where he would come to me as though he wanted to let bygones be bygones, to put our past behind us and move on properly. He always had some business deal or proposal for me to consider, always talked about how we could do something grand together," he continued.

"And?" she asked.

"And it never amounted to anything!" he said, waving his hand in the air. "He would pretend to want to be my friend one minute and would turn against me the next. Eventually, after all the failed plans, I realized that he was just using me, using my name, using my money, playing with me like he always did."

Mary watched as Tony finished his drink, then rose from his chair.

"Thank you for the drink, Mary," he said curtly. "I should get back to it. I'll see you tomorrow night, yes?"

Mary stood up and accepted his kiss to her cheek. She stared as Tony buttoned his suit jacket and left the bar, heading back to the High Limit Room with a brisk gait.


	15. Chapter 15

**Previously:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2015**

"Patrick never respected our code or our rules," he frowned. "All he cared about was himself. He had everything. He was Lord Grantham's favourite and got to work alongside you every day and he took it all for granted. He never showed the proper amount of respect, for our families, for the business, for the code. It was all just a game to him, and so long as he profited in the end, that's all he ever cared about."

Mary watched him closely.

"There were so many times where he would come to me as though he wanted to let bygones be bygones, to put our past behind us and move on properly. He always had some business deal or proposal for me to consider, always talked about how we could do something grand together," he continued.

"And?" she asked.

"And it never amounted to anything!" he said, waving his hand in the air. "He would pretend to want to be my friend one minute and would turn against me the next. Eventually, after all the failed plans, I realized that he was using me, using my name, using my money, playing with me like he always did."

Mary watched as Tony finished his drink, then rose from his chair.

"Thank you for the drink, Mary," he said curtly. "I should get back to it. I'll see you tomorrow night, yes?"

Mary stood up and accepted his kiss to her cheek. She stared as Tony buttoned his suit jacket and left the bar, heading back to the High Limit Room with a brisk gait.

 **Chapter 15:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2015**

"Mary!" Sybil exclaimed, looking up from her tablet as Mary came into the living room. "What are you doing here?"

"Why must you and Edith always act so shocked whenever I show up?" Mary frowned, leaning down and kissing Sybil on the cheek. "I live here, Sybil. Just because I have a boyfriend doesn't mean I'm moving out anytime soon."

"Well, that's rather disappointing," Sybil smirked. "I've been speaking to Bates about knocking down the wall between our bedrooms so that I have more space."

"Just you try it," Mary arched her eyebrow, sitting down on the sofa next to her youngest sister. "Whatever are you watching?" she asked, looking at the large television mounted on the wall across the room.

" _The Interview_ ," Sybil replied. "I haven't actually been paying much attention to it, to be honest."

"Oh God, don't bother," Mary rolled her eyes. "Matthew and I both thought it was horrible; it isn't funny at all. If anything, we should thank North Korea for trying to keep it from being released."

"I'll get to it at some point," Sybil shrugged, hitting stop on the playback. "Now, where's Matthew? He didn't drive you over?"

"No, I took a walk to clear my head," Mary explained. "Matthew's back at his hotel. He left work before I did tonight."

"Ah," Sybil nodded. "And what's on your mind?"

"Just…something Tony said a little while ago," Mary frowned.

"What did Tony say?" Edith asked, coming into the room.

"Must you? You almost made me jump," Mary said, glaring at her middle sister.

"Oh, come on, did not!" Edith shook her head, coming over and sitting down on Mary's other side. "Now, what did the Honourable Viscount Gillingham say that has you all sixes and sevens?"

"We were just having a bit of a chat, and Patrick came up," Mary said.

"That couldn't have been a happy conversation," Sybil said. "Tony probably hated Patrick more than anyone I knew."

"With good reason, I'd say," Edith chimed in.

"Hate is a rather strong word, don't you think?" Mary asked.

"It is, but then how would you describe your feelings to a man who slept with your wife and never let you forget about it? 'Mild dislike?'" Edith smiled.

"She wasn't his wife at the time" Mary rolled her eyes. "They weren't even dating. Who knows what either of them saw in her anyway, but that's besides the point."

"Wasn't there something else, though? Something about Patrick taking a fair bit of money off him in a poker game?" Sybil asked.

"They went at each other so often that they probably had an equal number of wins and losses," Mary said. "Tony just lets the losses get to him too much, and Patrick would always focus only on the wins."

"All right, so what did Tony say about Patrick?" Edith asked.

"The usual, how he thought he was lazy, always bucking the rules and the code that our families follow and such. The peculiar thing though, was he said that Patrick kept coming to him with plans for them to do business together," Mary said.

"The two of them?" Sybil frowned. "Now that would have been something to see. Why did it never come off?"

"I'm not sure. Tony didn't say specifically, just that Patrick would always bugger off," Mary replied. "I suppose I don't know what I find more shocking – that Patrick would offer, or that Tony would actually accept."

"Most of Patrick's bravado was all for show, you know that," Edith shrugged. "When he wanted to be, he could quite normal. I'm not surprised to hear that he went to Tony, hat in hand, trying to start fresh. He would have seen it as a grand gesture that would make him appear all powerful, bestowing his blessing in a way."

"I could see that," Mary nodded. "And I could also see him fucking off about it in the end, which would of course infuriate Tony."

"What does Matthew think about your little chat with Tony?" Sybil enquired.

"What do you mean 'what does he think about it'?" Mary asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

"Did you tell him that you were meeting with Tony tonight?" Sybil asked.

"Of course I did," Mary scoffed. "Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason," Sybil shrugged, reaching for her drink on the coffee table. "I would think that Matthew wouldn't want you meeting with Tony alone, given how besotted he is with you."

"He's married, Sybil," Mary rolled her eyes.

"What does that matter?" Edith laughed. "One smouldering look from you and he'd conveniently forget all about Mabel."

"I didn't give him any 'smouldering looks', thank you. I never have," Mary retorted. "I see Tony whenever he comes in, and Matthew's perfectly fine with it, not that I need his permission."

"It's amazing that the same boy who always seemed to be tongue tied in your presence is now so supremely confident that he doesn't care if you spend time with other men," Sybil smiled.

"Mary must be giving him plenty of reason to feel so at ease," Edith joked.

Mary swallowed nervously and got up from the sofa, walking over to the liquor cabinet to fix herself a drink.

"Speaking of Matthew, did you tell him about going to Downton for Mothering Sunday next month?" Sybil asked.

"Fuck," Mary gritted her teeth as she brought her glass of vodka and tonic back to the sofa. "No, I haven't yet. I completely forgot about it."

"Well, you best warn him," Edith said. "Papa will expect him to join us with Isobel still in Singapore."

"I don't understand why he and Mama can't just come here," Mary grumbled, sipping her drink. "It would make things far easier."

"Granny hates traveling during the winter, you know that," Sybil said. "Now, while we have you here, we should talk about what gift we're getting for Mama."

"All right, fine," Mary said as Sybil began playing around on her tablet. "Let's be quick about it, though. I told Matthew I'd text him when I was ready to go."

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2015**

"Alex?" Anna asked, kissing his chest.

Alex swallowed and took a deep breath, keeping his eyes closed.

"Yes?" he mumbled, his hand fumbling beneath the duvet and stroking her bare back.

"Mother's Day is in two weeks," she said lightly.

"It is, yes," he nodded slowly, shifting slightly as she massaged his stomach.

"I was hoping we could have dinner in Brighton," she said quietly, kissing him again.

"Whatever you want, love," he groaned. He sighed as her hand moved lower down his body. Before she could take hold of him, his eyes shot open and he grabbed her wrist.

"Wait," he frowned, looking at her curiously. "Brighton?"

"Yeah, Brighton," she said nervously, biting her bottom lip.

He blinked several times, waiting for his brain to start working properly. "Oh, Brighton…" he stated.

"It's just that it's been months since I last saw Mum, and it's expected that I'll be there," she explained.

"I thought you didn't get along with your mum," he asked. "Didn't she turn you out when you were younger?"

"We've been all right for a couple years now, ever since she finally left her asshole of a husband," she said. "And, you see, I've told her about you and she's quite eager to meet you."

He frowned for a moment, then chuckled, lifting up slightly and kissing her softly.

"Well, meeting Mrs. Smith can't possibly go any worse than meeting her daughter did, can it?" he smiled.

"That depends on whether you open that mouth of yours or not," she grinned, kissing him again.

"I'm not concerned," he smirked. "Mothers love me."

"Do they?" she asked. "And how many mums have you met? I thought you said that you didn't have many girlfriends?"

"It's true, I haven't," he shot back. "But it just so happens that I get along well with my friends' mums is all."

"I see," she laughed. "Well you're already in Mum's good books. She still can't believe that I've actually found someone."

"That's funny, because I still can't believe that you've kept me around," he said, kissing her longer this time.

"What about your mum?" she asked eagerly. "Do you usually do brunch with her or dinner?"

"Oh," he answered. "My mother passed away a few years ago."

"Oh," she exclaimed in surprise. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he smiled bravely. "I didn't have much of a relationship with her anyway."

"Oh," she swallowed, watching as he lay back against the pillow and looked away.

"So, should we drive down on the Friday and make a weekend of it? What do you think?" he asked.

"Probably just head down on the Sunday morning," she nodded. "Mum and I get along, but she's best taken in limited doses."

He pulled her closer and kissed her again before she rested her head against his chest.

"Sounds great, love," he said as they went back to sleep.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2015**

Matthew peeled his damp t-shirt off and dropped it onto the tile of the bathroom floor. He bent over and removed his shorts, stepping out of them and standing back up, stretching his arms out and groaning as his muscles protested. His socks soon followed on to the floor as he wandered over to the shower, moving his head side to side, grimacing as his neck seemed to make some rather strange cracking noises.

" _I don't wanna be needing your love, I just wanna be deep in your love…_ " he hummed as he turned on the water and stepped under the downpour, shivering slightly while the water got up to temperature.

" _I just wanna be there where you are_ , something…something… _get one little taste_ …" he sang, closing his eyes and lathering the shampoo into his hair.

Mary was at Grantham House with her sisters and said she would text him to come and pick her up when she was ready. Left on his own, he decided to go to the hotel gym. He would grab some take away when he left to get Mary and eat a late dinner once they returned to the suite. Mary usually snacked a little bit in the evenings anyway, so she likely wouldn't mind him holding off to eat until later.

" _Sugar! Yes, please! Won't you come and put it down on me?_ " Matthew shouted, pointing his finger to the ceiling as he tried to sing the high notes of the chorus of the song. He grabbed the liquid soap from the shelf and finished washing up.

" _Baby, you show me good loving, make it all right, need a little sweetness in my life…_ " he bobbed his head as he came out of the shower, reaching for a towel off the rack.

" _Your sugar! Yes…_ Mary!" he stopped in his tracks and blinked in surprise as Mary stood leaning against the doorframe, smirk across her lips, eyebrows arched.

"Oh, come on, don't stop for me," she grinned. "I believe the next line is 'yes, please'?"

"Erm, that's right," Matthew coughed, blushing fiercely.

"And?" she asked, glancing down his naked body as he stood rooted to the floor.

"Ah…won't you…ah…won't you come and put it down on me…" he mumbled. "Or something like that."

"That's right, now I remember," she said, still smiling wide. "I wasn't aware you were a Maroon 5 fan."

"Uh, I'm not, no. The song was playing in the gym," he explained, still blushing. "I guess it just got…stuck in my head."

"Apparently," she nodded.

"I thought you were going to text me when you were ready to leave?" he asked.

"I had Taylor drive me over," she grinned. "You must have been too…occupied…in the shower to hear me come in."

Matthew nodded.

"Well, get dried off and we can order something up from room service. I'll tell you about what I learned from Tony," she said crisply, smirking at him again before turning and leaving the bathroom.

* * *

"It's as we expected," Matthew said, using his chopsticks to corral a bundle of egg noodles. "Tony was furious at Patrick's antics."

"I'm not so sure, actually," Mary said, popping a cheese-covered crostini into her mouth. She paused for a moment to savour the taste and swallow before continuing. "Tony detested Patrick, yes, but tonight he sounded more…annoyed with him, that anything else. It seemed that he'd forgiven Patrick numerous times, only to be let down."

"The video still gives him a motive," he pointed out.

"Maybe," she nodded. "But what if Patrick never used the video to blackmail Tony? What if the video, and the entire encounter with the prostitute, was planned from the beginning? What if Tony knew all about it?"

"What are you saying?" he frowned. "That Tony willingly went along with it? That he was all right with the entire thing being recorded?"

"It's just as plausible, isn't it?" she suggested. "Patrick tells Tony that he has a special girl who will act out whatever fantasy he wants. Tony takes him up on the offer, after vacillating back and forth about it for a sufficiently awkward period of time, of course. Patrick supplies the hotel room, the tart and the camera. Tony, knowing Mabel would never be nearly so adventurous in bed, goes through with it, and Patrick gives a copy of the video to Tony for his private use and hides his own copy."

"You're saying that Patrick was on Tony's side in this?" he frowned.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "But Tony didn't sound like a man who wanted Patrick dead, or was glad he was gone. He sounded almost regretful that these plans the two of them had to do business together never came off. He didn't seem to me to be a man with a motive to kill Patrick, is all."

"And you think that the connection with Green is mere coincidence," he nodded.

"Anna said that Green specifically told her that the person who hired him to send those tainted drugs to Patrick was 'scary'. Now, Tony is many things, but fearsome and intimidating, he is not. Green left Tony's organization on his own. I don't think he was ever in fear of him. Besides, Tony wouldn't have Green killed to cover his tracks. That's not the way his family deals with problems, and I just don't think he's capable of it," she said.

"Well, I think you would be surprised of what Lord Gillingham is truly capable of when provoked," he countered. "Still, if your theory is true, that puts us back where we started – no closer to finding out who Patrick's killer is, and scratching Tony off our list of suspects."

"It does, yes," she nodded. "But I can't say that I'm not relieved if that's the case. If Tony was involved in Patrick's death, I'd have to report him to Papa, and the alliance between our families that's endured generations would be finished."

"Well it isn't as if your ties to the Foyles has made any material difference," he scoffed. "It's more symbolic than anything else."

"It is," she agreed, sipping her water. "But Papa does treasure his symbols and gestures."

Matthew nodded as she rose from the sofa.

"I'm turning in," she declared. "You've still got work to do?"

"I've got some reports coming in from North America, and a few other matters I need to check on," he replied.

"Well, don't stay up too late," she smiled, leaning over and kissing him. "We have early meetings tomorrow and I need you at your best."

"Yes, my Lady," he smiled, watching her disappear into the bedroom before he turned to his laptop and began navigating the numerous browser windows he had open on the screen.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames House, Millbank, London, England, March 2015**

"Yes, come in," Charles called out, staring at his computer screen as his office door opened.

"Mr. Blake? I have those reports you wanted."

"Thank you. You can leave them here," he said, waving to his desk. "They completed the entire analysis?"

"Yes, sir. They reviewed the entire hard drive and flagged the particular files that you might want to look at in more detail. The data is stored on the server and your security clearance should have been sent to you for access."

"All right, then," Charles nodded, still looking at his computer screen.

Once his office door closed and he was left alone again, Charles looked away from his monitor and leaned back in his chair. He reached over and swiped his thumb along the pile of papers, glancing at the stack with narrow eyes as he took a deep breath.

After a moment, he returned to the computer and checked his email for the security clearance for the data that he had ordered his team obtain and decipher. Finding his login and password, he accessed the data and sighed as the list of files scrolled across his screen.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, March 2015**

"I'm dreadfully sorry to call you here, Mr. Crawley. I told the gentleman that you weren't in and he was quite insistent that we track you down and summon you here. I said it just wasn't done that we called you over so late in the evening, but he was insistent and just wouldn't yield."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Molesley," Matthew said kindly. "I'm quite certain that he would have waited all night and never departed until I showed up, particularly given that we're open at all hours."

"Yes, sir," Molesley nodded.

"He's in the Whisky Lounge Bar, is he?" Matthew asked as they reached the elevator.

"Yes, sir," Molesley said crisply. "With some…friends…"

"Right," Matthew said wryly, stepping into the elevator and turning towards Molesley. "Send Ms. Baxter down to fetch me in about twenty minutes if I don't come up by then."

"Yes, sir," Molesley nodded as the elevator doors closed between them.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, March 2015**

Mary sat back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked down the length of the boardroom table to the large television screen mounted on the far wall. Anna and Alex sat patiently on the other side of the table, each of them holding a tablet computer and waiting for Mary's instructions.

"Now show me the locations that he stopped at most often," Mary said.

Alex swiped his hand across his tablet screen and a collection of green dots lit up the large map displayed on the television.

Mary pursed her lips and looked at the locations for several moments.

"And now the stops from the past week," she called.

Anna moved her fingers across her tablet screen and a set of blue dots joined the green ones on the display.

Mary exhaled and looked at the new set of destination points.

"Mr. Tom never goes to any of Sir Richard's properties," she declared. "He doesn't stop at 30 St. Mary Axe, or at any of his casinos."

"Which supports the idea that Mr. Hightower is the go-between," Alex nodded. "Sir Richard doesn't want to be spotted speaking to the Albanians."

"At least not the Albanians that are being driven by Mr. Tom," Anna noted.

Mary nodded, then rose from her chair. She walked slowly over towards the television, arms still crossed in front of her.

"Let's assume that Sir Richard has hired the Albanians to act as his muscle," she said, still looking at the television. "He wouldn't trust them with anything sophisticated within his organization. They haven't followed any of us for a while now. So now what's his play?"

"It isn't as if he needs them for protection, at least not from us," Alex frowned. "Maybe he's employing them to collect the takings from his territory?"

"No, they would want too large of a cut for him to agree to use them for that," Mary shook her head. "I don't particularly care what he's up to, so long as it doesn't involve us. Anything from the surveillance of Mr. Hightower?"

"Gwen says he has a regular meeting with the Albanians once a day, usually in the afternoon, and usually at the pub," Anna said. Nothing is exchanged, as far as we're aware. He meets up with them for about an hour, then they go their separate ways."

"Security assigned to Lady Sybil and Lady Edith reports there hasn't been anything unusual for the past two weeks or so," Alex said. "Perhaps Sir Richard has moved on to his next scheme after your little confrontation in the High Limit Room?"

"That was nothing," Mary scoffed. "Not even a skirmish, really."

"If we could catch them in the act of something, then we would have a better idea," Anna shook her head. "Something besides just surveillance, that is."

"I'm not so sure that I'd want to see that, actually," Alex commented. "The Albanians aren't known for their finesse."

Mary walked closer to the television, glancing at the coloured dots. There was no real pattern, no discernible order. The Albanians could have been doing anything at any of these locations. Her eyes wandered across the map. She then titled her head slightly and gazed at a particular part of the map.

"Anna," she asked, still looking at the map. "What was the name of the nightclub where you found Mr. Green?"

"Egg London," Anna answered.

"And where is this club located again?" Mary asked.

"Near Barnsbury, just southeast of Camden Road," Alex answered, looking over at Anna in question. Anna shrugged back at him.

"More precisely on the A5200 south of Camden Road, yes?" Mary asked, nodding towards the map.

"That's right," Anna confirmed.

"Which would be right about here," Mary said, pointing to a blue dot on the map.

Alex and Anna blinked in surprise.

"The Albanians were there," Alex said. "That's quite a coincidence."

"Does William still have the video that you recovered from Mr. Green's office?" Mary asked, looking over at both of them.

"Yes," Alex nodded.

"He went over it all and didn't see any persons of interest meeting with Mr. Green," Anna said.

"Well, we have several other persons of interest to look for now, don't we?" Mary smirked.

"I'll have him go over the footage again," Anna nodded.

"Thank you, both," Mary nodded, walking around the table and leaving the boardroom.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, March 2015**

Matthew walked quickly through the open doors into the plush interior of the intimate Whisky Lounge Bar. It was Robert's idea to create this space on the lower level of the casino, though the design was entirely Mary's. White and gold were the principal colours, with large mirrors on the walls, gilded wall sconces and accents throughout, and the bar made from imported Italian marble. They maintained a selection of 126 whiskies from all over the world. Few people knew about his place, and that was done on purpose. Distinguished friends and associates of Lord Grantham carried memberships here, allowing them access after the bar was closed to the general public. Granting such exclusive access though, sometimes had its drawbacks.

"There he is!" a voice laughed heartily as Matthew approached the bar. "Matthew! Come and have a taste of this outstanding Hibiki 12-year old!"

"Larry," Matthew said drily, nodding as Larry Grey shook his hand vigorously. The four women sitting at the bar with Larry eyed Matthew with interest.

"Girls, Matthew Crawley, Managing Director of Crawley Group," Larry grinned. "Matthew, the girls."

"Ladies, welcome to Maxims," Matthew said, glancing at each of them. As usual, Larry seemed to prefer a specific type of woman – blonde, buxom, wearing tight dresses and high heels.

"You don't need to know their names," Larry waved his hand dismissively. "Come and have a drink, Matthew. It's been too long that we haven't had a proper talk."

"It would have been better if you'd called ahead," Matthew said, taking a seat at the bar next to Larry. The women shifted away to make room for him, only to close around him once he was seated. "I don't have much time. I need to get back."

"Oh, come on, Matthew," Larry frowned. "Fuck work for the night. Mary can take care of whatever is going on, I'm sure."

Matthew nodded to the nervous bartender and took a glass of the Japanese whisky.

"To you, Matthew," Larry smiled, raising his glass. "And to many years of good fortune for all of us."

Matthew nodded in thanks and took a careful sip. Larry threw back his drink, groaned and slapped the top of the bar as the liquor burned down his throat. Blinking his eyes several times, he turned to the bartender and immediately demanded a refill.

 **Inifinty Skypool, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, March 2015**

Mary extended a long arm back over her head, reaching for the water and kicking smoothly as she swam backstroke down the length of the pool. She counted the strokes in her head, then turned in the water on to her front. Taking a quick look at the pool wall in front of her, she easily flipped forward, touched her feet to the wall and pushed off into her next lap. She breathed out as she broke the surface of the pool and headed back to the other end.

The pool wasn't overly long, so Mary barely got up to a proper speed before she had to turn over and do another lap. Still, it had been ages since she had a proper swim, and with Matthew still not yet home, she took advantage of the opportunity to have some alone time.

The past few days had been busy with work and seemingly constant phone calls and emails with her Mama and sisters to plan their trip to Downton in another week's time. As much as she grumbled about having so much on her plate, she quite enjoyed it. She felt as though she were finding her groove, handling the challenges at the office while also managing her family with limited aggravation. If she felt overwhelmed through most of February, this new month had her comfortable in her own skin once more.

Certainly not having to look over her shoulder for Sir Richard was a welcome relief, and she and Matthew were getting along much better also. They had not made love for going on two weeks now, but Mary wasn't necessarily worried about that. She went to sleep in his arms and woke up with him pressed against her. They were rebuilding their trust and intimacy little by little, and she was heartened by how he would hold her hand when they walked into work together, or kissed her whenever they parted. It felt more substantial this time than months ago when they couldn't keep their hands off each other. She felt as though they were sharing their true selves now; no secrets, no games, no acting.

Mary floated languidly in the pool, staring up at the ceiling as she calmed her breathing, allowing the last bit of stress from the day to drain away.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, March 2015**

"The one thing this place is lacking, Matthew," Larry smiled wickedly, "are hotel rooms."

"This isn't Las Vegas or Macau, Larry," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Hell, it's not even Monaco," Larry complained. "But thank God for locked doors, eh?"

Matthew huffed as Larry grabbed his shoulder and laughed merrily. After sampling some of the more expensive bottles in the Lounge, Larry had dismissed the bartender and ordered the doors locked so they could have some privacy. Matthew had quietly told Ms. Baxter to make sure no one came downstairs while he dealt with Larry. The woman seemed equally terrified by Larry's behaviour and relieved that she would not have to handle him herself.

"Now that one over there," Larry hissed, pointing at one of the escorts sitting at a table across the room. "Have a go with her, Matthew. Her mouth feels like a fucking vacuum. I shit you not!"

Matthew shook his head as Larry burst out into another fit of laughter.

"I need to get going, Larry," he said. "Mary's waiting for me."

"Oh yes, dear Lady Mary!" Larry laughed. "Well, don't worry Matthew. These bitches can be quick about it, if need be."

"Larry, I'm not interested," Matthew frowned. "Why don't you head home? It's quite late."

"Bullshit!" Larry scoffed. "It's barely past midnight! Look, Matthew, don't get me wrong. I know Mary's your bird and all, and good for you, really. But she's too vanilla, too cold. Just grab a piece of one of these girls. You won't regret it, I promise you!"

"No thanks," Matthew said firmly.

"God, Matthew," Larry sighed. "You're a brilliant businessman, but you're fucking boring, you know that? You're the face of the company now. People expect the man who runs these bloody casinos to be a rich playboy, not a lame accountant."

"Thanks for the advice, but I think I'll stick to what I know," Matthew said.

"For fuck's sakes," Larry complained. "If Patrick were here, he'd be doing a line off that one's tits."

"A lot of good that ended up doing him," Matthew grumbled.

"God dammnit, Matthew, the man's dead," Larry whinged. "You don't need to dance on his grave."

"Drugs killed him, Larry," Matthew glared at him. "I don't give a fuck that he liked to party. I never did. But I told him, I told him a thousand times that he needed to slow down, and look what happened to him in the end."

Larry sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "I miss that fucker, Matthew. I know no one ever took him seriously, but he was a good guy. Really, he was."

Matthew nodded.

"You know we were supposed to go away?" Larry said wistfully. "Me and Tim and Patrick. We were going to go to Paris for a few days. Hotel was booked and everything. I called him just to check in and got no answer. Didn't think anything of it at the time."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?" Matthew asked, eyeing Larry curiously.

"God, must have been the day before he died," Larry said, running his hand through his hair. "Just talked about the trip. He had the whole thing figured out already. Restaurants, clubs, girls. He had it all set up. Couldn't wait to get over there."

"Did Patrick mention anything to you about Tony Foyle?" Matthew asked.

"Gillingham?" Larry frowned. "No. Not the last time I talked to him, anyway. Why?"

"Just wondering. Tony's been coming into Crockfords a fair bit lately. Whenever I see him, I can't help but be reminded of how he and Patrick never got along," Matthew explained.

"Oh, that's rubbish," Larry shook his head. "Yeah, Patrick could get on his nerves, but that was the same for everyone. He told me a while ago that he and Gillingham were getting along, actually. Something about them going into business together and Patrick wanting to help him out. Can you imagine?"

"So they made up over all that shit with Mabel?" Matthew asked.

"Mabel? That was all old news," Larry waved his hand. "Patrick said that Gillingham had gotten over that years ago."

Matthew nodded, weighing Larry's words.

"All right, if you aren't going to fuck these women, then I will," Larry declared, getting up from his stool and loosening his tie.

"Ah, take them to a hotel, Larry," Matthew said, placing his hand on the man's shoulder and turning him towards the door. "I'd rather not have to pay for the extra housekeeping."

"Fuck off, Matthew," Larry smiled, shaking his head as he reluctantly headed for the door. "Come on, you bitches! We're leaving!" he called out.

Matthew rolled his eyes as the escorts shimmied their way out the door, laughing as Larry slapped their behinds as they passed in front of them and went upstairs to the foyer. Larry hugged Matthew rather strongly before piling the girls into a waiting limo and taking off.

"Have a car brought around for me please, Mr. Molesley," Matthew said to the manager. "I'm going home. I trust you and Ms. Baxter can handle anything else that may arise?"

"Yes, sir. Very good, sir," Molesley said gratefully, running off to carry out the command.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, March 2015**

Mary brushed her hair, looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had a hot shower after coming back down from swimming, which felt wonderful. After donning her silk robe, she now was preparing to have some tea and watch television while she waited for Matthew to come home.

She smiled as she heard the door open and heavy footsteps grow closer. She continued brushing her hair as Matthew came into the bathroom moments later, his suit jacket gone and his shirt partially unbuttoned.

"How was your time with Larry tonight?" she asked lightly, still looking in the mirror.

"He was his usual charming self," he sighed, coming to stand next to her. "They were right to call me. He would have drank some of our best whisky if I hadn't corralled him."

"Let me guess, he had a coven of hookers with him," she rolled her eyes, putting the hairbrush down.

"Obviously," he replied, glancing at her exposed neck. "He did say something interesting about Patrick and Tony, though."

"Did he?" she asked, watching him in the mirror.

"He said that Tony and Patrick buried the hatchet ages ago, apparently," he said. "So your theory about Tony not having a motive may in fact be true."

"You don't need to sound so surprised," she smiled. "I am capable of making a semi-intelligent deduction from time to time."

"I know you are," he said softly, stepping behind her, his eyes still on her neck. "You're brilliant."

Mary blinked as she watched his taller frame move behind her. She swallowed nervously as his hand moved up the side of her robe, catching in the sash around her waist.

"Larry offered me one of his whores tonight," he whispered, his hands taking hold of her hips.

"I expected he would," she nodded. "And were you tempted?"

"No," he answered immediately. "But it did make me rather desperate to get home to you."

"Is that so?" she asked. "Should I be flattered?"

"No," he replied, his hands moving around to her front, taking hold of the tie of her sash. "My compliments shouldn't count for much given how I've been neglecting you."

"You have," she nodded, watching their reflection as his clouded eyes met hers in the mirror. "Although you did have your reasons."

"Funny how I can't exactly recall them right now," he said, lowering his head and pressing a warm kiss to her neck.

Mary turned her head to give him more skin to touch. "What are you thinking about, then?" she asked.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked. "I'm afraid my thoughts are not very gentlemanly at the moment."

"I want to know," she whispered. "I want to know everything."

She gasped as he undid the sash of her robe and pulled it open. His hands dipped inside, touching her warm skin and moving up to cup her bare breasts.

"I want you, Mary," he rasped. "If you'll allow it."

"You'll need to do better than that," she said, closing her eyes as his fingers pressed into her sensitive flesh and his lips and tongue trailed along her neck.

"I've missed you so much," he said between kisses. Her robe slid off her shoulders and down her arms as he continued to touch her. She dropped her hands and the garment fell to the floor, leaving her naked before him.

"I've missed kissing you," he continued. "Touching you. Fucking you."

She moaned softly, her hands reaching back and taking hold of him through his trousers.

His one hand moved away from her breast, across her stomach and between her thighs. They both groaned together at the contact.

"God, Mary," he breathed at discovering her arousal.

She yelped as he spun her around to face him, his mouth finding hers in a fierce kiss as he pulled her against him. Her hands managed to come up between them and unbutton his shirt, throwing it to the floor before she went to work on his belt and the zipper of his trousers.

She grunted in protest as he pushed her hands away, then cried out in surprise as he lifted her up and sat her on the marble counter of the vanity. He kissed his way down her body, swiping his tongue between her lips before moving to her neck, her cleavage, her stomach, and finally kneeling between her legs.

"Matthew!" she gasped, her hands taking hold of his head as he licked her long and slow. His hands lifted her legs and angled her hips, opening her fully to him. She closed her eyes, her head falling back against the mirror as he feasted upon her. She dared not watch, knowing the sight would shatter her immediately. As it was, she would not be able to hold out much longer.

"Please, Mary," he begged, kissing her thigh as he allowed her a brief respite. "Please."

"Yes!" she couldn't stop herself from crying out as his lips found their target and sent her flying moments later. Gasps and whimpers followed as she shook. Through the haze over her mind, she felt his fingers slide along her skin and move closer to her centre.

"What are you…" she managed before her eyes snapped open.

His finger pushed inside of her easily as his mouth worked on her again. She bucked her hips, alarmed at how fast he was attacking her last bit of control. Keeping her eyes open this time, she moaned in encouragement and held on to him as he added a second finger. With several firm thrusts, he set her off a second time and she groaned loudly, letting go of him, her arms flopping uselessly at her sides.

He removed his fingers and kissed her stomach, hugging her close as she came back down. She thought briefly that the marble was beginning to feel uncomfortable beneath her when he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

She stretched out as he joined her underneath the duvet. He kissed her lightly, holding her tight as they lay on their sides, legs wrapping together, chest to chest. Her pulse was still racing, parts of her body a bit too sensitive to go again so soon. He didn't demand more of her just yet, just holding her and kissing her over and over. She kissed him back, squeezing his ass, massaging his arms, letting the warmth of him surround her as she remained in his embrace.

His lips moved to her neck and she arched against him, a smile crossing her lips as she felt his arousal pressed between them. She gently pushed him on to his back, sitting up and smiling at him, brushing her hair away from her face, her desire rising as she saw him look at her with a wanton hunger she hadn't seen for weeks.

"You mentioned how you missed fucking me?" she asked lightly, bringing one leg across him and shifting comfortably on to his lap.

"Yes," he gasped, his hands moving to her hips to steady her against him.

"Do you know what I've missed, darling?" she smiled wickedly.

His mouth remained open, his eyes wide. He shook his head, unable to reply in words.

"I've missed having you inside me," she smirked, raising her eyebrow. Her hand moved down between their bodies, taking hold of him.

He groaned at her touch, staring up at her. Her skin flushed with warmth. They both sighed as she lowered herself on to him. Her hands rested on his chest as she moved on him. He supported her hips, helping her find the rhythm they both wanted. Eventually he followed her lead, thrusting with his hips and pulling her closer as he got closer and closer to his release.

"Mary," he growled in warning, nodding his head to her.

She kept her eyes on his as she moved her hips faster.

"Mary!" he grunted, closing his eyes and tensing his muscles. She felt exquisite around him and when he heard her voice urging him to finish, he let go of all restraint, holding her hips firmly as he cried out in pleasure.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 2015**

"This is very good, Mary," Cora smiled, tasting the chicken.

"Edith made the salad and Sybil baked the cake you'll be having later," Mary nodded smugly, taking a drink of her sparkling water.

"It all looks delicious," Robert agreed. "It's always so good to have everyone back home."

Matthew and Mary shared a knowing smirk.

"And of course a home-cooked meal will always be superior to fighting with strangers for a seat at some restaurant," Violet noted.

"Oh, Mama, you sound so old fashioned," Rosamund shook her head. "London has some of the finest restaurants in the world. I don't understand what you have agains them."

"Nothing at all. I enjoy the restaurants quite a bit. It's the mixed company that I take issue with," Violet said haughtily.

Rosamund rolled her eyes.

"There, see, Aunt Rosamund?" Edith smiled. "Granny would be perfectly happy to spend a meal with just you. There's no need to bring anyone else along."

"Well, that's not exactly what I meant," Violet said.

"No, I'm quite sure it wasn't," Rosamund retorted.

The two of them looked at each other, then both sighed and went back to their lunch.

"Then it's settled," Mary interjected. "The next time that Granny comes to London, we'll have a proper Ladies' Lunch. Crawley women only. No boys allowed."

Sybil laughed and clapped her hands in agreement.

"What do you think, Mama?" Cora smirked.

Violet looked over at Rosamund and nodded.

"Now that I would gladly come to the City for," Violet said.

"I'm looking forward to it," Rosamund agreed, smiling politely at her mother.

Matthew reached over and patted Mary's hand affectionately.

* * *

"Why am I not surprised to find you in here?" Mary smiled as she came into the library.

Matthew looked up from his book and smiled up at her. "I thought you went to the Village with your Mama and sisters?"

"They decided to stay and chat with some of the locals. I wasn't up for that," she shrugged. "Besides, I wanted to get back so I could show you something before dinner."

"Oh?" he asked, closing his book. "What exactly?"

"Come with me," she smiled, reaching out her hand to him.

He took her hand and rose from the sofa. Shaking his head, he allowed her to pull him out of the library and down the hall to one of the parlours.

"It's been ages since I've been in here," he remarked, glancing around the room. Mary stayed behind and closed the door before returning to his side.

"Do you remember?" she asked lightly. "This was where you and Patrick used to hang out when we were children."

"We spent a fair amount of time in here as teenagers as well," he nodded. "We learned how to play poker in here, actually. We didn't dare touch your Papa's table in the games room."

"Carson was rather angry when he discovered you spilled vodka on the felt," she smiled.

"Yes, he did, and rightly so," he chuckled.

"Do you remember anything else about this room?" she asked, touching his arm.

"Board games, watching television," he replied. "Considering the number of rooms in the house, it's funny that we always ended up using this one."

"I have a few memories of my own, you know," she said.

"Do you?" he smiled, placing his hands on her waist and turning her to face him. "Did you use to have friends over and get up to some mischief in here?"

"Sometimes, yes," she laughed. "Though I usually didn't come in here unless Patrick was around. No, I remember several occasions where a spoiled young lady was rather rude to a shy and quiet young boy."

Matthew frowned for a moment. "Spoiled, you say?"

"Very spoiled," she nodded. "Spoiled, entitled, a little too obsessed with herself to see what was right in front of her own nose."

He swallowed. "Well, I hope for her sake that she outgrew that phase."

"Oh, I think she has," she smiled. "She's far more aware of the difference between what truly matters and what doesn't."

"Such as?" he asked.

"Such as the fact that the shy and quiet young boy has grown into a rather wonderful and sexy man," she said, arching her eyebrow at him.

"That's what matters, is it?" he laughed. "That the dull boy has become handsome?"

"No, how he looks isn't what matters," she shook her head. "But it's quite a delightful bonus."

He smiled as she leaned towards him and kissed him softly. His arms came around her and held her close.

"Did you bring me in here to reminisce?" he smiled once she stepped back a bit, still staying in his hold.

"Yes," she nodded. "But also to replace some of your bad memories of this room with a better one."

He blinked and raised his eyebrow in question.

She kissed him quickly, then slowly got down on her knees.

"Mary!" he gasped in panic. "We can't! Not in here!"

"Yes, in here," she smirked, undoing his belt.

"Someone could come in! It's…it's the middle of the day!" he struggled, his eyes widening as she dropped his trousers to the floor.

"I locked the door," she said lightly, pulling his boxer briefs down his legs. "No one is looking for us. No one will interrupt."

He groaned as her hand closed around him and she swiped her tongue across his growing arousal. He stared down at her and she looked up at him, her eyes bright and full of mischief.

"Now be a good boy and try to keep quiet," she ordered.

 **Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 2015**

"Telephone for you, Lady Grantham."

"Thank you, Pratt," Violet nodded, accepting the phone from the butler. "You can go on and retire. I won't need you for the rest of the evening."

"Yes, ma'am," Pratt bowed respectfully, then left the sitting room, closing the door behind him.

Violet only raised the phone to her ear once she heard the butler's footsteps disappearing down the hall.

"Hello," she said into the phone.

"Hi," came the reply.

"How was Brighton?" she asked warmly.

"It was lovely," Alex said. "Anna's mum is very nice. She made a roast with a dozen side dishes. I think I had three helpings. Anna and her mum just kept watching me eat."

"Good," she said cheerfully. "I expect that it's important to Anna that you get along with her mother."

"I know," he said quietly. "It's important to me too."

Violet paused and glanced at the large vase of English roses sitting on the coffee table.

"Thank you for the flowers," she said. "It isn't necessary, as I keep telling you. This is a day for mothers, not employers."

"You do say that every year, yes," he laughed. "And yes, I agree. Today is for mothers, both biological and otherwise."

"I do like them, make no mistake," she nodded. "You know that roses are my favourite."

"I'm sure you have much better ones in your garden, but those are the best I could find," he chuckled.

She smiled as she looked at the flowers again.

"How was brunch?" he asked.

"Delightful," she smiled. "I had quite an appetite, surprisingly. Mary and the girls also talked me into coming to London for a Ladies' Lunch. Just family. I think they were concerned that whenever I'm in the City, Rosamund and I spend too much time talking to our guests rather than to each other.

"There's probably some truth to that," Alex agreed. "So a Ladies' Lunch. That would mean no outsiders are invited?"

"No boys allowed, they said," Violet nodded.

Alex laughed.

"They bought me a rather nice gift – a new walking stick," Violet continued.

"Matthew mentioned they had it custom made just for you," he replied. "I'm glad you liked it."

"It was very thoughtful of them," she nodded. "Now, thank you for the call, but why don't you get back to your girlfriend and we'll talk next weekend?"

"All right," he said reluctantly. "Saturday morning?"

"Always," she smiled.

"Right," he said. "And the next time you're in London?"

"We'll have dinner," she said. "No outsiders allowed."

"Perfect," he smiled. "Good night, then, Lady Grantham."

"Good night, Alex," she said, smiling before she hung up the phone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Previously:**

 **Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 2015**

"How was brunch?" he asked.

"Delightful," she smiled. "I had quite an appetite, surprisingly. Mary and the girls also talked me into coming to London for a Ladies' Lunch. Just family. I think they were concerned that whenever I'm in the City, Rosamund and I spend too much time talking to our guests rather than to each other.

"There's probably some truth to that," Alex agreed. "So a Ladies' Lunch. That would mean no outsiders are invited?"

"No boys allowed, they said," Violet nodded.

Alex laughed.

"They bought me a rather nice gift – a new walking stick," Violet continued.

"Matthew mentioned they had it custom made just for you," he replied. "I'm glad you liked it."

"It was very thoughtful of them," she nodded. "Now, thank you for the call, but why don't you get back to your girlfriend and we'll talk next weekend?"

"All right," he said reluctantly. "Saturday morning?"

"Always," she smiled.

"Right," he said. "And the next time you're in London?"

"We'll have dinner," she said. "No outsiders allowed."

"Perfect," he smiled. "Good night, then, Lady Grantham."

"Good night, Alex," she said, smiling before she hung up the phone.

 **Chapter 16:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, March 2015**

Mary came into the bedroom, smirking as she saw half of Matthew's smiling face looking over at her. He was still in bed, lying on his stomach, his arms wrapped around his pillow, one eye and half his mouth gazing at her mischievously.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, arching her eyebrow as she came around to her side of the bed.

"You showered without me again," he said thickly.

"I didn't feel like waking you," she shrugged, sliding in next to him. "Besides, we don't have to take every shower together, do we?"

"Not every one, no," he smiled. "I just think it's only right in instances like these. Since we became dirty together, it follows that we should want to clean up together."

"How many women has that line worked on?" she asked, rolling her eyes as she turned on to her side to face him.

"Still looking for the first one, apparently," he chuckled.

"That you are," she smiled, leaning over and kissing him quickly. "And how many women have you tried it on?"

"My lips are sealed," he retorted.

Mary laughed, sitting back and playing her fingers through his hair.

"Mmm, that's nice," he smiled, closing his eyes.

"You should shower," she said, massaging his scalp lightly. "We need to get started with our day."

"Have I ever told you how maddening it is that you're a morning person?" he complained, eyes still closed.

"And so are you," she teased. "You just choose to stay up late as well."

"I don't think it was my choice alone to stay up late last night, was it?" he smirked.

"Cheeky," Mary blushed.

Matthew opened his eyes and looked up at her playfully. "I think I have every right to be."

"Aren't you the smug one?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

"Not all the time," he grinned. "But I do enjoy knowing I've satisfied you."

"God, the male ego," she shook her head, pulling her hand back and slapping his arm lightly. "Is it truly so important to you that I affirm your prowess?"

"Important? No," he said lightly, closing his eyes. "Delightful? Well…"

"Go and shower," she said, shoving him gently.

"All right," he grumbled, rolling out of bed. He stretched his arms and arched his back, groaning in an exaggerated fashion as he looked out the window. Mary rolled her eyes at the display.

"As much as I enjoy your body, parading around half naked is not going to make me shower with you. Now go," she scolded him.

"Spoilsport," he frowned at her, going into the bathroom.

She smiled and shook her head at his deliberately leaving the door to the bathroom open while he undressed, giving her a clear view of both him and the shower.

"Last chance!" he called over his shoulder, walking slowly over to the shower.

She ignored him.

The sound of Ellie Goulding's _Burn_ jolted Mary to look over at the nightstand. Frowning, she picked up Matthew's phone.

"Matthew! Your phone!" she called, glancing at the screen.

"That's Rose's ringtone. Go ahead and talk to her," Matthew answered, stepping into the shower and turning on the water.

Mary blinked and looked into the bathroom in surprise. She turned away and answered the call.

"Rose," she said politely.

"Mary!" Rose said. "I was looking for Matthew."

"He's busy at the moment," Mary replied. "Shall I have him call you back?"

"No, that's all right. I can just tell you," Rose said. "If you're all right with that."

"He told me about what you did," Mary said, her voice shaking slightly. "Thank you, Rose. Truly. I…I really don't know how to…"

"We Crawleys stick together, isn't that right?" Rose said cheerfully.

"You're a MacClare," Mary smiled.

"I'm still your cousin, and I'm on your side," Rose said, undaunted.

"Thank you for that," Mary nodded. "But you work for Matthew, not Crawley Group. Ultimately, your loyalty is to him, isn't it?"

"Yes, and who's side do you think he's on?" Rose teased.

"Should I be concerned about how much he's shared with you, Rose?" Mary joked.

"He's actually told me very little," Rose said. "But the fact that you're answering his mobile at seven in the morning is rather telling, isn't it?"

"Get on with it. What did you find out, Rose?" Mary asked, blushing again.

"We didn't bother trying to hack Sir Richard's bank accounts," Rose explained. "It's too dangerous, and wasn't really what we were after. However, in going over his email he didn't bother to delete the confirmation messages for his wire transfers. Over the past year, there's been regular monthly payments made to a particular bank."

"Those payments could be for his business operations," Mary replied. "What makes you think they have anything to do with us in particular?"

"It's the only monthly payment that he makes from his personal bank account," Rose said. "He may use other accounts for his business operations, but it seemed peculiar to me that he wired the same amount to the same bank on the same day each month."

"That is peculiar," Mary nodded. "Which bank is it?"

"Credins Bank," Rose replied. "I wasn't familiar with it. Apparently it's a private bank located in…"

"Tirana, Albania," Mary frowned.

"Yes, that's right. Do you know it?" Rose asked.

"I've heard of it," Mary said. "It was in the news a while ago."

"Ah. Well, the rest of the data that I reviewed is clean," Rose said. "I don't think there's anything else, beyond what we already sent over, that has anything to do with you. I'll send the wire transfer payment schedule to Matthew."

"Very good. I'll let him know," Mary said. "Thank you again, Rose. Please do come back and see us sometime soon, yes?"

"Perhaps in summer," Rose said. "Winter is too dreary in London. Please give Sybil my love."

Mary laughed and said goodbye to her cousin. She hung up the call and put Matthew's phone back down on the nightstand. Getting up out of bed, she walked into her closet and removed her robe, going over Rose's information in her mind.

"Did Rose find out anything interesting?" Matthew asked when she came back out dressed for the day.

"She found proof that Sir Richard has been making monthly payments to the Albanians for a while now, which confirms that they're working for him and it's no coincidence that Mr. Hightower has been spotted with them so often," Mary said.

"All right," Matthew nodded thoughtfully. "So now we need to find out what he's hired them to do."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, March 2015**

"I went back and looked over the video from Egg London to see if any of the Albanians were spotted at the nightclub meeting with Mr. Green," William said.

"And?" Anna asked.

"Nothing," William said.

Anna sighed and looked over at Alex.

"Well, at least we tried," Alex shook his head.

"Nothing at first," William added. "I searched all the videos we had from the week before your meeting with Mr. Green, and there was nothing."

"But…?" Anna prompted him, glancing over at Alex then back to William.

"Nothing the week before that, or the week before that," William continued. "There were a fair number of big parties around then, made it hard to catch everyone's face clearly, what with the lights and the dancing, and the fact the men weren't always looking up; facial recognition wasn't exactly easy…"

"William," Anna said firmly. "Did you find anything?"

William swallowed. He turned his computer monitor around towards them. The display showed a series of images where a group of men entered the club, walked through the crowd to speak to the bartender, then moved into the back office to meet with Green.

"The Albanians," Alex said, leaning closer to the screen.

"They came in three times and met with Mr. Green. They would talk for a little while, then go back out into the club and stay for a while in a private booth. Mr. Hightower never showed up there. We only have video up to last November, so we don't know what they were doing there more recently, but Lady Mary was right. They did visit with Mr. Green," William said.

"When was the first visit?" Anna asked.

William looked at his other computer monitor.

"First time they show up at the club was in June," William answered. "The other two visits happen in July and September."

"Do we have audio from the meetings in the back office?" Anna asked.

"Afraid not," William shook his head. "Video only. I don't know if they equipped the cameras for sound. With all the music and bass, they probably thought it wasn't worth it for most of the areas they were monitoring."

"And Mr. Green may not have wanted any microphones to pick up what was being discussed in the back office," Alex shook his head.

"Thank you, William. Good work," Anna said, getting up from her chair. "Have a set of prints sent to Mary and Mr. Crawley, and email the lot to the four of us."

"Yes, Miss Smith," William nodded, turning the monitor back around and getting to work.

"So now we have a connection between the Albanians and Mr. Green," Alex said as they left William's office. "Which means we likely have a connection between Carlisle and Green as well."

"If he hired the Albanians at that time," Anna nodded. "The Albanians could have simply been buying drugs from Green. It may not have anything to do with Sir Richard, or the Crawleys."

"Possibly," Alex agreed as they went into her office. "But you know how Matthew feels about coincidences."

"The same way that Mary does," Anna said, looking at him pointedly as she sat down at her desk. "They don't believe in coincidences."

 **Gender Institute, London School of Economics, London, England, March 2015**

Sybil sighed in frustration as she stared at her computer screen, her hands cradling her head, her elbows propped on the desk. She read over the page once more, then rolled her eyes and deleted the entire thing.

"Fucking hell," she grunted, getting up and stretching her arms. She grabbed what was left of her coffee and took a walk around the library in hopes of clearing her muddled mind. A few months into her courses and her dissertation was a mess. As expected, she had found more questions than answers the more she studied, and though she was easily one of the brightest and most vocal students in the school, she couldn't help but pile on more and more topics into her research, thereby turning her focused analysis of interracial couples and their portrayal in popular culture into a full-blown exploration of the connections of racism and sexuality in society.

As she moved past the stacks sipping her coffee, she glanced outside to the deserted grounds below. It was well past dinner hour and she expected she had a few hours to go yet. Edith has texted her two hours ago and told her to bring her work home, but she reluctantly refused. As quiet as Grantham House could be, there were too many distractions. Sybil needed to isolate herself to get anything done, though judging by her lack of progress so far, that may not have been the wisest of ideas.

She reached one end of the library and reached into her jeans pocket for her phone. Realizing she left it back in her cubicle, she groaned and shook her head. Though she liked to disconnect herself from the outside world when she was here, these little breaks that she took was her chance to catch up on texts, play a quick game or two and unwind before she dove back into writing.

Sybil looked up as she heard a door open and close in the distance. The library was usually deserted at this time. Most of the students at the Gender Institute preferred going home or working in one of the dedicated study rooms or one of the other libraries across campus. Throwing her empty coffee cup in the bin, she made her way back towards her cubicle.

The sound of heavy footsteps to her left caught her attention and she stopped and glanced over to the stacks. She blinked several times as she could not hear or see anyone nearby.

Resuming her way to her desk, she turned into a random aisle and grabbed a book from the shelves, pretending to read it as she watched for any sign of movement. She cursed silently that she didn't have her phone. The bodyguards assigned to her didn't follow her into the building out of fear of drawing attention, so who else was in the library?

After waiting for a few minutes and hearing nothing, Sybil put the book back on the shelf and walked carefully down the aisle. If there was anyone else here, it was probably just another student, or maybe a caretaker. Who would even know she was here, let alone want anything from her? It was alarming when Mary had told her about the surveillance a few weeks back, but she didn't spend too much time worrying about it. She was a target because of her family name, but hardly a high value one. She didn't know nearly as much about the family business as Mary or even Edith, and no one was stupid enough to try and hold her for ransom.

With every step she took back to her cubicle, she relaxed a little more. This was a school library. Dozens of people could come in and out at any time that had nothing to do with her. She shook her head as she reached her desk, chastising herself over her paranoia. Probably just another student or a caretaker. Had to be.

Sybil jumped as she heard a pile of books fall to the floor behind her. She whirled around, staring at the stacks with wide eyes. She fumbled behind her for her phone, finally finding it as the library fell quiet once more.

" _Out of here, Sybil. Get the fuck out of here,_ " her mind screamed. She quickly turned around and packed up her notebook, shoving it into her bag. She didn't bother to wrap up the power cord and just threw it in with her loose papers. Normally she would put back all the books she had taken from the shelves, but she'd leave that to the staff to deal with.

Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she turned away from her cubicle and screamed as she ran into a tall man looming over her.

"Sybil?" Matthew said, holding his hands up and looking at her with concern.

"Matthew!" she gasped. "You fucking scared the shit out of me!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he smiled, giving her a hug. "Hey! You all right? You're shaking."

"You would be shaking too if you were as freaked out as I was! That wasn't fucking funny following me around like that! How could you?" Sybil glared at him, remaining in his embrace and slapping his side.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew frowned, pulling back from her. "I wasn't following you."

"Sybil?" Mary called, coming over to them.

"Mary!" Sybil exclaimed, looking from Matthew to her sister.

"Sybil says someone was following her," Matthew said.

"What?" Mary frowned. "When?"

"Just now," Sybil said. "I heard the door open a little while ago, and there were footsteps, and a pile of books fell a moment ago. That wasn't you?"

"No," Matthew shook his head, looking around the room. "We just got here."

"Edith said you were staying here to study tonight, so we thought we'd come by and try and talk you into taking a dinner break," Mary said, glancing at Matthew with concern.

"It was probably just another student," Matthew said. "Let's go."

"Yes, let's," Sybil nodded. "I'm starving."

She took Mary's arm and walked briskly to the door. Matthew took one last look around as he followed behind them. Seeing nothing, he left and walked Mary and Sybil downstairs and outside to the waiting car.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, March 2015**

"And no one saw anything?" Edith asked.

"Nothing. The guards didn't report anyone going into the library until we arrived," Mary said as they walked briskly down the hall towards a large set of windows. "I suppose Sybil could have imagined it all."

"She's been pushing herself a lot lately," Edith agreed. "I've never known her to hear things, though."

Anna trailed behind the sisters, standing to the side when they reached the windows.

"What height have you built the fences to?" Mary asked as she looked down into the small pit where construction vehicles were beginning to excavate the new expansion of the casino.

"Five times the normal height," Edith rolled her eyes. "We'll also have tarpaulins over the entire site and hoarding covering anything else. No one will get a glimpse until you say so."

Mary clicked her tongue and continued staring out the window. Anna gave Edith a sympathetic look and the middle Crawley sister smiled and shrugged.

"How was Brighton?" Edith asked Anna, trying to distract herself from Mary's apparent search for some other fault in her construction plan.

"It was quite nice, actually," Anna replied, holding her tablet to her chest and looking down at the floor. "Mum made a roast. She overdid everything, of course. There were only three of us, but she could have fed a whole football squad."

"And how did Alex deal with that?" Mary asked, not turning around.

"He had three helpings," Anna smiled at the memory. "I was afraid he was going to throw up on the way home, but he was a good soldier about it."

"How sweet of him," Edith smirked at Mary.

Mary turned her head to share a smile with her sister.

"Well, we survived anyway," Anna said quickly. "I'm just glad that Mum didn't scare him off."

Mary turned and smiled at Anna, then looked past her to the two men standing a ways back down the hall talking to each other.

"No need to worry, Anna," Mary said, smiling as she watched Matthew and Alex. "Something tells me that your Mr. Lewis isn't the type to be intimidated by a woman's mother."

Anna blushed and nodded slightly.

Mary turned back to the windows.

"Now, what about the workers? Do you have confidentiality agreements from all of them?" Mary asked.

"Yes, I had them all sign three copies of the fifth revision that you sent over," Edith grumbled.

* * *

Matthew sipped his tea, watching Mary, Edith and Anna talk as they surveyed the construction site. The warmer Winter had allowed them to get a quicker start on the plan than originally projected, and Mary was down here every day. She inundated Edith with texts and emails so often that the two of them now had a daily meeting scheduled to save everyone time and aggravation.

"How was Brighton?" Matthew asked.

"It was quite nice," Alex nodded. "Anna's mum is a sweet woman."

"Ah," Matthew smiled.

"What? I've met plenty of mothers in my time," Alex protested.

"But not under these same circumstances," Matthew noted. "And not a mum who you're so desperate to impress."

"Bullshit," Alex scoffed nervously. "It was a nice family dinner; hardly something to get worked up about."

"No, I agree," Matthew nodded. "It's not that important, meeting your girlfriend's mum, months into your relationship, on Mother's Day of all days."

Alex grunted and sipped his strawberry smoothie, looking over at Anna as she wrote something on her tablet while the two Crawley sisters spoke animatedly to each other.

"You weren't nervous when you met Lady Grantham," Alex said, not taking his eyes away from Anna. "Why should it be any different for me?"

"I've known Cora since I was a child," Matthew said easily. "It's different, very different. I've always gotten along with Robert and the rest of the family. It's Mary who hated me."

"Lady Mary never hated you, did she?" Alex asked.

"No, I guess she didn't, but being ignored was almost worse than being hated," Matthew said, looking at Mary.

The two men stood still, looking down the hall in silence.

"You told me last year that this would be a quick job," Alex said finally. "Clean up Patrick's division and go back to Manchester, you said."

"I did," Matthew nodded.

"You told me we wouldn't be gone for more than ten months," Alex said.

"That does sound familiar, yes," Matthew agreed.

"Any chance that timetable could be extended?" Alex asked, looking down the hall.

Matthew didn't look over at him and kept watching Mary as she laughed with Edith and Anna.

"Possibly. Are you putting in a formal request?" Matthew asked lightly.

"Yes," Alex said. "Yes, I am."

"And how long do you propose that we stay here?" Matthew enquired.

"Indefinitely," Alex said quietly, smirking as Anna covered her mouth while she laughed along with the Crawley sisters.

"Approved," Matthew smiled.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 2015**

Carson tucked the folder under his arm and walked out of the library, across the Great Hall, through the parlour and into the Morning Room. He glanced around as he went, making sure the vases were filled with fresh flowers, the carpets and rugs were vacuumed and the floors swept clean and polished. After decades as the butler for the Crawley family, he could easily spot if anything was out of place, be it an off-centre picture frame or a mug placed on a coffee table without a coaster. The world was ever changing around them, but Lord Grantham still enjoyed his traditions, and Carson took it upon himself to see those old ways maintained.

"Good morning, my Lord," Carson nodded in his deep baritone.

"Carson," Robert nodded from the sideboard. He filled his plate with eggs, ham and toast and went over to his customary seat at the head of the table.

"The monthly reports from Lady Mary, my Lord," Carson said, placing the folder on the table with the Earl's newspaper. "Another increase in revenues and profits, my Lord."

"Fine," Robert nodded, spreading marmalade on his toast.

"She and Mr. Crawley appear to be making a very good team, my Lord," Carson noted, pouring His Lordship's morning tea and coffee.

"Hmm," Robert grunted.

"Even Lady Edith's division is recovering well from the downturn of last year," Carson said, stepping back and putting the carafes down on the serving cart.

Robert didn't answer.

"It's a weight off your shoulders now that the company is running more smoothly, is it not, my Lord?" Carson asked.

"That will be all, Carson. Thank you," Robert said curtly, reading his newspaper.

"Very good, my Lord," Carson nodded, bowing slightly and leaving the room.

Robert looked up as the door closed behind the butler. He frowned and folded his newspaper, placing it on the table. He took a sip of coffee, his eyes falling on the folder of monthly reports that Carson had brought in. Setting his coffee cup down slowly, his hand moved over the folder and paused, the Earl taking a deep breath before he opened it and glanced at the summary page. Mary's reports were always the same – first a summary highlighting the important figures in bold type, with the more detailed statements behind. For the past few months, Mary had been emphasizing the increase in revenues and profits. It seemed that she and Matthew were hitting new heights with each passing month.

Robert turned the pages quickly, frowning as he glanced at the numbers. He reached the report on the expansion of Crockfords last and his lips curled into a scowl as he noted the accounting of Matthew's investment and the division of costs, with anticipated revenue projections divided into the family's share and Matthew's share.

"Matthew," the Earl said bitterly, closing the folder shut and pushing it away from him. He pursed his lips and looked out the window to the fields of his family estate.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, March 2015**

"All right, let's take it step-by-step," Mary said, glancing at the television screen on the wall. "What do we know?"

"Sir Richard began making payments to the Albanians as early as April 2014," Alex said, pressing his tablet and placing a text box on the television screen with the accompanying information. "Monies were wired to Credins Bank in Tirana."

"The same bank whose co-founder and executive director was gunned down in broad daylight last June," Matthew said.

"It's a private bank with rumoured ties to the Albanian Mafia," Anna nodded. "Though we don't know why Sir Richard was paying them."

Mary nodded. "Next?" she asked.

"We have confirmed sightings of the Albanians and Daniel Tom visiting Mr. Green at Egg London nightclub as early as June of 2014," Alex said, bringing up another text box on the television screen with headshots of the Albanians and Green. "Later visits occurred in July and September, and surveillance shows Daniel Tom driving the Albanians to the same nightclub twice in the past two months."

"After Green went missing, and presumed dead, in December," Anna noted.

"What we don't have, is a confirmed sighting of Cyril Hightower with the Albanians at the nightclub," Matthew noted. "There's no connection between Carlisle and Green."

"Nothing concrete, anyway," Mary nodded.

"Do we have anything linking the Albanians to Mr. Patrick's murder?" Anna asked.

"No," Alex shook his head, bringing up another text box showing the date of Patrick's death. "We know that the Albanians met with Green in around the time that Patrick was killed, but nothing places them at his penthouse or links them to the drugs that killed him."

"What's the connection between Patrick and Carlisle?" Matthew asked, turning from the television screen to Mary. "Is there one?"

"They knew each other," she shrugged. "They may have come across each other a handful of times at various events. I can't imagine a reason why Sir Richard would want Patrick dead, if that's what you're asking."

"Let's say that whoever wanted Patrick dead used the Albanians to get Green to send the tainted drugs over to him," Matthew said.

"Green said that the person who gave him his instructions to deal with Mr. Patrick was someone 'scary'," Anna nodded.

"The Albanian Mafia could definitely have scared the living daylights out of someone like Green," Alex agreed. "Beyond just threatening his life, they could have hurt his business, muscled in on his territory, even dissuaded his suppliers from doing business with him."

"And they have the reputation and the resources to back up any threat, so he would have taken them very seriously," Matthew said.

"To say nothing for the fact that by using the Albanians as go-betweens, the true killer doesn't expose himself, thereby leaving Papa with no chance of revenge, since everyone knows we would never take them on," Mary said.

"Exactly," Matthew nodded.

"What about Lord Gillingham?" Anna asked. "He could have used the Albanians for the exact same reasons."

"And we at least have something of a motive where he's concerned, as weak as it is," Alex said.

"I just don't think he's capable of it," Mary shook her head. "It's much easier for me to believe that Sir Richard would come up with such a scheme."

"I tend to agree," Matthew said. "At best, we can say that Tony may have hated Patrick. A lot of people hated him, but enough to go to such lengths to have him killed and cover their tracks? Hate wouldn't be enough motivation, surely."

"We know that tainted drugs killed Patrick, and those drugs were sent to him by Green," Mary said. "We also know that the Albanians were retained by Sir Richard for some purpose, and the same Albanians were following Edith, Sybil, Anna and Alex at different times over the past few months. What's the connection?"

"Is there even one?" Alex asked.

"We can't know who ordered Patrick's murder without finding a motive," Mary said. "Even if we accept the Albanians put Green up to it, we don't know who ordered them to do so or why. We need more on what he was doing outside of the casinos in the last weeks of his life."

"I'll look over everything we have on Patrick's last days again," Alex nodded, making a note on his tablet.

"Anna, take a look with him," Mary said. "Another set of eyes can't hurt."

"Yes, Mary," Anna nodded, glancing over at Alex.

"Assuming Sir Richard had nothing to do with Patrick's death, what is he doing with the Albanians, and does it concern the family or the company?" Mary asked, looking at Matthew. "We need to at least find out whether it's something we should be concerned about or not."

"We can continue surveillance on Hightower," Matthew suggested. "Maybe we can look at the data we recovered a little more closely, see if there's any hint of what Carlisle was actually paying the Albanians to do."

"It's all we've got, for now," Mary nodded to him, then addressed the entire group. "Not a word of this to Lord Grantham, for now. All we have is circumstantial evidence and theories. If he knew that Sybil and Edith were under surveillance, he would demand a response from the Albanians directly, and that won't end well."

"Yes, Mary," Anna nodded.

"Yes, Lady Mary," Alex echoed.

"Agreed," Matthew said.

"Right, then," Mary nodded, rising from her chair. "Thank you all."

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 2015**

"I'm going up," Sybil announced. She turned and kissed Mary on both cheeks and did the same to Matthew before rising from the sofa and heading for the stairs.

"Goodnight, darling," Mary called to her, snuggling against Matthew.

"Maybe we should get going. It's getting late," he suggested, reaching his arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm.

"Mmm, must we?" Mary smiled, stretching her legs out on the sofa. "I'm quite comfortable here."

"All right, a little while longer," he chuckled, leaning over and kissing the top of her head.

"We could just stay over, you know," she suggested, her eyes closed, head resting against his chest. "I'm surprised you haven't pushed for it before, if I'm being honest."

"I'd rather go back to mine," he said. "I don't have any other clothes with me."

"You can go back to the Shangri-La and change in the morning," she said lazily.

"I could, but I'd rather not make the extra trip," he said.

"What's wrong?" she asked lightly, patting his stomach. "You aren't bothered about Sybil and Edith seeing how you look first thing in the morning, are you? I do have my own bathroom, you know."

"No, no, not at all," he shrugged.

"Then what is it?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking up at him.

"I'm just more comfortable at the hotel, is all," he said. "This house…I've been coming here since I was a child. It would feel strange to share a bed with you here."

"You didn't have any issues when we slept in my bedroom at Downton," she said pointedly, sitting up fully now.

"That was different," he shook his head.

"How so, exactly?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

"It just was!" he frowned, looking away.

"Matthew…" she said, watching him closely. She couldn't comprehend why he was acting this way.

"I just like the hotel, is all," he said tightly.

"I like the hotel too," she nodded slowly. "But what's the difference if we sleep there or here? At least here we're sleeping in my actual bed, rather than one where we don't know who's been…"

Mary blinked and opened her mouth in shock.

"Matthew…" she said slowly. "Are you refusing to sleep here because you don't think you're the first man I've had in my bed?"

"I'm not refusing!" he protested, finally looking at her. "I just…have a preference, that's all."

She arched her eyebrow at him.

He turned away and sighed.

"Matthew…" she prompted him.

"I don't care about your past, I don't," he said, turning to her and shaking his head. "But I don't need to be reminded of it, either."

"You think that I never slept with anyone at Downton because it's my parents' home," she stated. "But here in London, where I've been living on my own since sixth form, I must have had boys up to my bedroom constantly. Is that it?"

"No! That's not what I think at all!" he glared at her. "God, Mary, I'm not judging you! I don't think that you were a…"

"A what?" she demanded. "A slut?"

"No!" he said firmly.

"Good, because I hardly think you're in a position to preach to anyone," she shook her head.

"And what is that in reference to, pray?" he asked, his brow crinkling as he looked at her suspiciously.

"Oh, please, Matthew," she rolled her eyes. "Don't make a vague reference to my sexual history and think that yours is off limits. I may not have paid much attention to you when we were younger, but you were far from a blushing virgin when we first slept together, were you? You're far too skilled to have not had your fair share."

"That wasn't my first time, no," he said carefully. "What difference does that make?"

"It doesn't make a difference!" she spat. "It shouldn't make a difference! I don't care about how many women you've had before me and you shouldn't see sleeping in my bed as some sort of biohazard!"

"I don't think sleeping in your bed is a biohazard!" he retorted. "I just…" he ran his hand across his forehead and through his hair.

"You just what?" she pressed.

He grit his teeth and frowned. Calming himself slightly, he turned to look at her, his expression less angry, and more guarded.

"I wanted to be your first," he said quietly.

Mary blinked.

He continued, speaking quickly. "I know it's ridiculous, and hypocritical, and probably sexist and even a fair bit chauvinistic, but when we were younger, I imagined…I imagined that we would save ourselves for each other, somehow, and as stupid as it sounds, sleeping in your bed here just feels wrong because it reminds me that we didn't. I'm sorry."

He swallowed and looked down at the carpet.

Mary frowned, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

"That time," she said. "When we were teenagers and I overheard you telling Patrick and the others that we'd slept together…that wasn't just you making up some sordid tale to brag, or impress the lads, was it?"

He shook his head. "I hadn't slept with anyone up to that time," he said. "I should have just told Patrick that it was none of his business, or just told him the truth without feeling embarrassed about it, but I had a dream, sort of, of you being my first, so I just went with that. A part of me liked pretending as though it was true, I suppose."

Mary rolled her eyes and snorted. Reaching out her hand, she gently turned his face back towards her.

"You can be so adorably stupid sometimes," she smiled, shaking her head at him.

Matthew chuckled ruefully.

"For your information," she smirked. "I've never brought a man to my bedroom, actually."

He blinked in surprise. "You…haven't?" he sputtered.

She rolled her eyes at his reaction. "No, I haven't," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "I won't apologize for having lovers in the past…"

"I'm not asking you to," he shook his head vigorously. "I have no right to…"

"But I've never had a man in my bed, either here, or at Downton," she continued.

"May I ask why not?" he managed.

Mary smiled at him. "I suppose I've never been with anyone that I thought deserved the privilege."

He blinked in realization. "But you let me…"

"I did…at Downton," she nodded. "As for my invitation from earlier tonight, I'm considering taking it back."

He huffed and smirked. "You probably should," he said, eyes bright. "I've done a rather shit job of showing my worthiness and appreciation, to be certain."

"Well, perhaps you can try and get back into my good graces?" she teased, leaning closer.

"I'll do everything in my power, my Lady," he smiled, leaning in and kissing her softly, his hand reaching up and caressing her cheek as he ran his tongue lightly across her lips.

"Mmm," Mary smiled, pulling back slightly to take a breath. "That's definitely one of the better kisses I've had on this sofa."

"I suppose I deserve that," he laughed. "I'm sorry, darling."

"Don't be," she smiled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "In an old-fashioned kind of way, it's sweet that you wanted your first time to be with me. But you once told me that I shouldn't let the past control me, and I dare say that you should take your own advice."

"Yes, I think that's probably wise," he grinned. "I'm not very good about doing as I say, I suppose."

"No, you're not," she said. "Now stop talking and kiss me before I get cross."

He smiled and pulled her closer, kissing her slowly as she settled herself in his hold. His hands moved down her back to rest on her waist, his lips parting with hers as she slid her tongue into his mouth. He sat back and she moved over him, sitting in his lap as they kept kissing.

"Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask to go upstairs?" he asked between kisses.

"I thought you didn't want to stay over since you don't have a change of clothes?" she teased, kissing him back.

"I'll make do," he whispered, his hand moving beneath her shirt and up her back. "I don't need clothes to sleep in anyway."

"Goodness," she smirked, pressing herself against him. "So you're asking me to invite you up to my bedroom, are you?"

"I'm begging," he choked out.

"Hmm," she growled in satisfaction. Kissing his lips, she moved to his cheek, down to his neck, then up to his ear.

"You're going to be the first to fuck me in my own bed, you know," she drawled.

He groaned as his head fell back on his shoulders.

"Are you sure you're up for it?" she asked, nipping at his earlobe.

"Most definitely," he rasped, his hands moving down and cupping her bottom.

"All right, then," she smiled, kissing him one last time before she rose from the sofa.

He followed her, rising to his feet and taking her offered hand.

"Let's see if all the fuss is worth it," she said mischievously as she led him out of the room and towards the stairs.

"Hold on," Matthew said, pulling on her hand and causing her to stop and turn around to face him. "We should give the occasion the grandeur it deserves, shouldn't we?"

Mary frowned in confusion, then gulped as he swept her off her feet and picked her up. Her arms went around his neck as he carried her up the stairs.

"This is rather corny, wouldn't you say?" she chided him lightly, holding on as he reached the top of the stairs and turned for her bedroom.

"It is," he nodded, carrying her over the threshold and kicking the door closed behind them. "But I want tonight to be memorable."

"I expect it will be," she laughed. "Is this how you imagined our first time? Carrying me up to bed?"

"No," he smiled. "I thought our first time would be at Downton, so it would have felt strange to carry you up to bed in front of your parents."

"Considering that they were more than willing to push me at you even back then, they probably wouldn't have minded if you carried me up naked," she smiled, kissing his neck.

"It's probably fortunate for both of us that I didn't know any of that," he said, turning his head and kissing her lips.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I might have tried it," he smirked, kissing her again.

"So here we are in my bedroom," she said huskily. "What happened next in your fantasy?"

"I would bring you to bed," he said, stepping over to her bed and setting her down on top of the duvet. "And undress you."

Mary swallowed as he lifted her leg and rested it on his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed as he trailed his fingers down her leg to the top of her stockings. Applying just enough pressure to make her shiver, he rolled her stocking down her leg and off, placing her leg back down and repeating the same gentle steps with her other stocking.

She watched as he moved over her, kissing her lightly as his fingers unbuttoned her shirt. She arched her back as he pulled the sleeves down her arms and whisked the shirt down behind them on to the floor. His one hand swept up her back and undid her bra, leaving her topless as he lay her back down.

"Matthew," she sighed as he kissed her neck, then her breasts while his hands trailed down her sides and slipped beneath her skirt. She inhaled quickly and moaned as he pulled her panties down her legs, all the while his lips and tongue moved across her chest.

"What about you?" she gasped as he kissed her stomach, her hands grasping his shoulders, then tangling into his hair.

"Later," he growled against her navel. "You first."

She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, the duvet soft against her cheek as he unzipped her skirt and eased it down her legs. She moaned loudly as he kissed her centre, his tongue delving inside of her, his hands keeping her legs spread open.

After months together, he knew precisely what she wanted and how she wanted it, but this still felt new and different somehow. Their conversation from earlier gave what they were doing added weight. Where Mary originally didn't think it a big deal at all to sleep with Matthew in her own bed, she now knew that they were sharing a unique moment for both of them, a kind of marker, linking their past and their future together.

She reached her one hand up and bit down on her knuckles, trying to stifle the sounds building up in her throat. Her other hand held him tight against her, her hips moving in time with his mouth, his rhythm steady and constant, working her up relentlessly. Her pulse sped up, her breaths grew short, until finally her thigh muscles tightened and she came apart, her back arching off the bed as he kissed her through her release.

He moved up her body slowly, kissing her thigh, her hip, her stomach; licking her ribs, her breast and her neck before reaching her lips. Pecking her lightly, he stretched out next to her and she turned into him, resting her head on his fully clothed body as she caught her breath.

"Was that...how you imagined it?" she asked, her fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

"Actually, I used to be terrified that if I ever was lucky enough to sleep with you that I would have no clue what I was doing and end up disappointing you," he sighed.

"Well, no need to worry about that," she smiled, trailing her hand down his front. "What else did you imagine us doing on our first time together?"

"Quite a lot, actually," he blushed.

"Mmm, you'll have to talk me through it," she said wickedly, kissing his cheek as her hand reached between his legs.


	17. Chapter 17

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 2015**

"What about you?" she gasped as he kissed her stomach, her hands grasping his shoulders, then tangling into his hair.

"Later," he growled against her navel. "You first."

She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, the duvet soft against her cheek as he unzipped her skirt and eased it down her legs. She moaned loudly as he kissed her centre, his tongue delving inside her, his hands keeping her legs spread open.

After months together, he knew precisely what she wanted and how she wanted it, but this still felt new and different somehow. Their conversation from earlier gave what they were doing added weight. Where Mary originally didn't think it a big deal at all to sleep with Matthew in her own bed, she now knew that they were sharing a unique moment for both of them, a kind of marker, linking their past and their future together.

She reached her one hand up and bit down on her knuckles, trying to stifle the sounds building up in her throat. Her other hand held him tight against her, her hips moving in time with his mouth, his rhythm steady and constant, working her up relentlessly. Her pulse sped up, her breaths grew short, until finally her thigh muscles tightened and she came apart, her back arching off the bed as he kissed her through her release.

He moved up her body slowly, kissing her thigh, her hip, her stomach; licking her ribs, her breast and her neck before reaching her lips. Pecking her lightly, he stretched out next to her and she turned to him, resting her head on his fully clothed body as she caught her breath.

"Was that…how you imagined it?" she asked, her fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

"Actually, I used to be terrified that if I ever was lucky enough to sleep with you that I would have no clue what I was doing and end up disappointing you," he sighed.

"Well, no need to worry about that," she smiled, trailing her hand down his front. "What else did you imagine us doing on our first time together?"

"Quite a lot, actually," he blushed.

"Mmm, you'll have to talk me through it," she said wickedly, kissing his cheek as her hand reached between his legs.

 **Chapter 17:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 2015**

Edith walked down the hallway, adjusting the cuff of her blouse. She tucked a few loose strands of her blonde hair behind her ear and looked at the screen of her mobile. Distracted by looking at her emails, she almost crashed into Sybil coming out of her bedroom.

"Sorry," Sybil mumbled, walking in step with her sister as they reached the stairs.

"You're up early," Edith remarked, tucking her phone away.

"I have some meetings this morning before class in the afternoon," Sybil shrugged. "Apparently I'm in a class full of keeners who love waking up early."

"God, they must hate working with you then," Edith smiled.

"We try and keep to ourselves and limit our need to interact," Sybil smirked. "There isn't much group work, to be fair. Just a few basic assignments to get us all on the same page before we go off on our own for the rest of the year."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the foyer towards the dining room, continuing to discuss their plans for the day. Edith was due at a construction site in Brixton before heading back to Crockfords for her daily meeting with Mary. Sybil was likely to be spending her entire day at school before meeting up with her sisters for dinner in the evening.

"Where are we going, by the way?" Sybil asked.

"I don't know," Edith said. "It's Mary's turn to choose and who knows if she's even put her mind to it."

"Well, if she hasn't, then Matthew will make a good choice, I'm sure," Sybil nodded.

"Thank God. All she seems to want to eat these days is Indian," Edith muttered.

"What wrong with that?" Sybil asked.

"Nothing at all, it just gets boring when we have it all the time," Edith said.

"True," Sybil nodded. "Although it is rather convenient to just go back to…"

They both stopped short as they came into the dining room and took in the sight before them.

"Papa wants to talk to me, apparently," Mary said, glancing at her mobile.

"Do you know what it's pertaining?" Matthew asked, eating a forkful of scrambled eggs.

"Probably business," Mary sighed, glancing across the table at him as she stirred her tea. "I'm sure he has something to complain about."

"I doubt that," Matthew frowned. "Those reports you sent to him a few days ago must have made him happy, surely?"

"You're so sweet," she smiled at him. "Papa has not once told me he was just 'happy' with a report. He always has questions, and for him, questions are merely complaints in disguise."

"Do you want me to be on the call with you, then?" he asked.

"No, it's all right," Mary sighed. "I can handle him."

Matthew looked up and noticed Sybil and Edith standing just inside the doorway staring at them.

"Good morning," he smiled, turning back to spread strawberry jam on his croissant.

"Matthew," Sybil said slowly, glancing over at Mary.

"He's wearing the same clothes from last night," Edith whispered.

"I know that," Sybil whispered back.

"Are the two of you going to come have some breakfast or just stand there gossiping like a couple of teenagers?" Mary asked, rising from her chair. "And yes, Matthew stayed over last night."

Matthew smiled at her as she went to the sideboard to spoon some fruit from the white ceramic serving platters into a small bowl.

"We weren't talking about that at all," Edith said haughtily, coming over and taking a plate from the buffet.

"Sure, you weren't," Mary shot her a look.

Sybil nudged Matthew in the back as she passed behind him on her way to the buffet.

"Sybil, I'm going to assign another guard to you," Matthew said.

"Oh God, must you?" Sybil rolled her eyes. She filled her plate with French toast and ham and brought it to the table.

"Sybil," Mary warned her, bringing her fruit bowl back to her seat. "You're the one who told us you thought you were being watched in the library yesterday. We just want to make sure you're safe, is all."

"I know, and thank you for that," Sybil said, looking at Matthew before turning back to Mary. "But it isn't as if any of them look like students. They're all so obvious."

"No one at your school has noticed them yet," Matthew pointed out. "Hopefully it stays that way and there's no need for them to actually do anything. If all remains clear for the next month or so, we'll consider scaling back."

Mary looked at Sybil pointedly.

"Fine," Sybil relented, shaking her head. "What's this one's name?"

"We aren't telling you," Mary said easily. "The less time you spend looking out for the security, the better. Just know that they're watching as usual, and all the same communications procedures are in place."

"Well, how am I supposed to know when he's around then?" Sybil asked, raising her hands in exasperation.

"What makes you think it's a man?" Matthew smirked, rising from his chair.

Sybil's mouth dropped.

"You're riding in with Taylor, yes?" Matthew asked, coming around the table towards Mary.

"Yes," Mary nodded, looking up at him. "I'll see you at the office."

Matthew leaned down and kissed her quickly.

"Edith, Sybil," he said on his way out. "I'll see both of you at dinner."

"Bye, Matthew," Sybil grumbled.

"Bye, Matthew," Edith grinned at her sister.

"Why didn't he just wait for you?" Sybil asked.

"He has to go back to the hotel and change first, obviously," Mary said.

"Speaking of the obvious, you finally let him stay over," Edith smiled.

"Well it wasn't as if I was stopping him from staying over before," Mary replied. "It just hadn't become a topic of conversation until last night."

"And?" Sybil asked.

"And he stayed over," Mary shrugged.

"Did you hear anything?" Sybil asked Edith.

"She's two rooms down from me, and the walls are rather thick," Edith replied.

"And we're done here," Mary rolled her eyes, getting up from her chair.

"Wait," Sybil called. "Matthew didn't really assign a woman to my security team, did he?"

"What if he did?" Mary asked. "You're the one who's always advocating for equal rights for women."

"Yes, but…our guards are usually rather large and strong," Sybil mumbled.

"Darling, we wouldn't put anyone on security – for either of you – unless they were entirely qualified," Mary said genuinely.

"All right," Sybil sighed.

"Very good. Now, Matthew will text you the restaurant we're going to later today. Edith, I'll see you at noon?" Mary asked.

"Noon it is," Edith nodded.

"Until then," Mary waved, leaving the room.

"Do you think she shagged Matthew here last night?" Sybil asked Edith in a quiet voice.

"Of course she did," Edith scoffed. "Why wouldn't she?"

"But this is technically Mama and Papa's home," Sybil noted. "It seems wrong."

"What difference does that make? They already shagged at Downton," Edith said plainly.

"She shagged him at Downton?" Sybil exclaimed. "But they were staying in separate rooms!"

"Honestly, Sybil," Edith rolled her eyes.

Sybil went back to eating her breakfast, looking down at her plate as her mind whirred with new information.

"Do you think Matthew really put a woman on my security team?" Sybil asked.

Edith sighed dramatically.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames House, Millbank, London, England, April 2015**

"Charles Blake," Charles said into the phone.

"Charles," Tony said.

"Ah, Tony," Charles smiled. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you. Mabel mentioned you rang?" Tony asked.

"I did," Charles nodded, turning to his computer screen and bringing up a new browser window. "Good news. I've convinced the powers-that-be at HMRC to accept your father's Voluntary Disclosure."

"Really?" Tony exclaimed. "That's fantastic, Charles."

"It took some doing, but they aren't interested in going over decades of records, and so long as the payment is made in short order, that should close off the investigation," Charles said.

"That's such a relief," Tony said. "Thank you so much, Charles. Papa will be elated, as am I."

"Don't thank me just yet," Charles said. "You'll need to be diligent about your reporting and payments in the future. They'll be watching you closely and may even audit the company and the family at some point."

"Fair enough," Tony said. "Mabel will handle all of that."

"And that other matter we spoke about, we'll need to continue with that as well," Charles said. "My superiors are very interested in what you have to say, and they've authorized me to put our resources behind it, and to provide you with immunity as necessary."

"Of course, Charles," Tony said. "Anything you need."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, April 2015**

"Hello, Papa," Mary said, adjusting her headset and looking at her father's name on the computer screen. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you," Robert said curtly. "I had some questions about the last report you sent over."

"Yes?" Mary rolled her eyes, turning her chair around as she looked over at the framed copy of the Grantham Estate entail hanging on her office wall.

"The costs for the expansion seem rather high," Robert said.

"We pre-ordered a lot of the materials for future phases," Mary said. "Not only does it mean we're saving by buying a higher volume, but we also protect ourselves from price increases in the future."

"But where will these materials be stored in the interim?" Robert asked.

"With Edith, of course," Mary frowned. "There's space onsite, but also plenty of room at Crawley Construction."

"Mary, I wasn't told about this," Robert said. "The expenditures were supposed to be tightly controlled and spread out in phases."

"Yes, but it's all within the same budget, Papa," Mary replied, a growing sense of confusion festering in her stomach. "Does it really matter if we spend the money now or later?"

"Of course it does, Mary!" Robert scoffed. "Our cash flow is very important and sinking large amounts all at once into one of your projects affects the rest of the company. Surely, you understand that."

"Yes, I do," Mary nodded. "I'm not dipping into the company cash flow beyond what was already projected."

"Then where are you coming up with the money for your materials?" Robert asked.

"We're paying the excess costs from Matthew's investment," Mary said. "The company's share of the expenses remains unchanged."

"From Matthew's investment…" Robert repeated.

"Yes," Mary said. "Is that all right with you?"

"I would just appreciate if I was kept updated more regularly on these types of decisions," Robert said.

"Papa, a condition of Matthew's investment was that we would continue to have the same authority as before," Mary said.

"I am well aware of that, Mary!" Robert snapped. "But I'm still the President of this company, in case either you or Matthew needed reminding of that! The two of you can't just make decisions on a major project and expect me to read about it in a report after the fact!"

Mary sighed out loud, frowning as she turned back to her computer screen.

"Fine," she said tightly. "Anything else?"

"What's going on with the appeal?" Robert asked shortly.

"I'd be pleased to tell you," Mary said, opening up a browser window on one of her screens.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 2015**

"You were a bit unfair with Mary, don't you think?" Cora asked, coming into the library.

"You heard?" Robert frowned, looking down at the papers spread across his desk.

"I did," she nodded. "I should think she's quite confused as to why you are constantly finding fault with her work, given how well the company is performing as of late."

"I'm not finding fault with her work," he frowned. "I'm entitled to ask questions, you know. It's my company, not hers."

"I thought it was the family business, and Mary is family," she replied. "You're just a caretaker, aren't you?"

"Cora, you know that I'm the President and I have more responsibilities than Mary can fathom," he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "Mary is family and a Vice-President, but that doesn't mean she's free to do whatever she wishes."

"No, I expect she is well aware of that," Cora laughed.

"Need I remind you that the divisions did not truly right themselves until I brought Matthew here?" he declared. "Mary thought she would just take over everything, easy as that."

"I see, so you give Matthew all of the credit for the recent improvement in things?" she asked.

"Not all of it, no," he scoffed. "There are a few things that he's done which I am not pleased with, as well."

"Well, be careful, darling," she said, sitting down on the sofa and opening a book. "Even Mary needs some encouragement from time to time. As for Matthew, he isn't Patrick. He's his own man, and does what he wants."

Robert looked up from his desk and glanced at the portraits of the Earls of Grantham hung on one wall. His eyes lingered on his father's picture as Cora's words echoed in his mind.

"Yes, yes he does," Robert said ruefully, shaking his head.

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 34** **th** **Floor, 30 St. Mary Axe, London, England, April 2015**

"Well?" Richard asked, frowning at the man sitting on the other side of his desk.

"Nothing," Cyril Hightower shook his head. "Their casino computer network is protected by the latest encryption protocols. Even were we to gain access, they would detect it almost instantaneously. They also use different encoding for each casino, so breaking into Crockfords would do nothing to assist us with Maxim's, for example."

"Meaning we would have to take each of them down until we found what we were looking for," Richard said bitterly.

"Assuming that what we are looking for is even stored at one of the casinos," Cyril remarked.

"Well, where else would it be? We've searched every other possible location," Richard frowned.

"Except for Downton Abbey," Cyril nodded.

"It won't be there," Richard scoffed. "Lord Grantham knows nothing about it."

"What makes you think that Matthew Crawley does?" Cyril asked.

"He doesn't," Richard retorted. "Not yet. But, he's the only one of their lot with enough brains to find out, and I would rather he not, which is why we must beat him to it."

"Maybe he'll never find out," Cyril suggested. "If he doesn't know to actually look for it, it may remain buried forever."

"I don't think it's particularly wise to leave things like this to chance, do you?" Richard said tightly.

Cyril nodded and looked back down at his tablet. Richard turned his chair to the side, looking out the window.

"You're sure you can't convince the Albanians to deal with him?" Richard asked quietly.

"They refuse," Cyril said. "That tale of what happened to his father and how he got his retribution is like something out of Greek mythology. Some of them won't even speak his name as if it carries a curse or something."

"Fucking twats," Richard grumbled.

"What now, then?" Cyril asked.

"Find something to use against him, while we continue our search," Richard sneered. "That way, if he ever does stumble upon it, we have the ability to deter him from ever using it."

"Yes, sir," Cyril nodded, awaiting instructions.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, April 2015**

"What should I do about Papa's request for a report on the materials you ordered?" Edith asked, looking at her mobile as she and Mary walked into the room they were using as a planning area for the expansion. "He wants the purchase orders and invoices."

"Ignore him," Mary rolled her eyes, going over to a wall where the blueprints were all displayed. "I talked to him already. Matthew and I are supposed to have complete autonomy over the way we run our divisions, including the expansion of Crockfords. I could barely get Papa to pay attention to it for months. I won't suddenly run everything by him just because there's actual money going into it now."

"All right," Edith shook her head. "If he brings it up again, I'll tell him to talk to you about it."

"Perfect," Mary said, looking at the designs carefully.

"Things seem to be progressing well with Matthew," Edith smirked.

"Fuck off, not you too," Mary grumbled. "Since when do you care if I'm happy or not?"

"Since forever," Edith shot back. "The more time you spend with him, the less you're around to bother me."

Mary huffed, giving her sister a knowing look, which Edith fired right back at her.

"We're good, yes," Mary said finally. "We have our moments, of course, but things are…good."

"Good," Edith smiled. "Mama will be pleased."

"What are you talking about?" Mary frowned at her sister.

Edith sighed and looked back at her with a wry smile.

"Mama told you!" Mary cringed.

"I overheard her and Granny talking about it when we were back at Downton following your announcement," Edith said. "You must admit, it's quite convenient."

"Yes, I'm sure that if I tell Matthew that Mama wants me to marry him to bind his money to the company, he'll immediately note the convenience of such an arrangement," Mary muttered.

"Her approach is rather clumsy, I agree," Edith said. "But honestly, there's only a few ways this can turn out, isn't there? Matthew knows to get involved with you means he's going to be a part of the company going forward, doesn't he?"

"Papa brought him into the company before we started dating," Mary said. "Besides, the two are completely separate. It isn't as though we do anything differently at work just because we're together."

"Yes, but if Matthew decided to go back to Manchester, would you follow him like a good girlfriend?" Edith asked.

"Why would I have to do that?" Mary frowned. "First of all, he isn't going anywhere. Second, we could still have a relationship if he were there and I was here. It's not as if we would break up if he stopped working for the company."

"I'm sure Mama would have something to say about that," Edith smirked.

"There's no need to talk about Matthew's future – either with the company, or with me. I'm quite happy with his role in both at the moment, and no amount of meddling from Mama is going to change that," Mary said firmly.

"All right," Edith said lightly. "I just hope you're being realistic, though. Matthew's been in love with you forever. This isn't just a casual thing for him."

"It's not for me, either," Mary said quietly.

Edith looked down at her hands and smiled.

"I was thinking that we should consider the overtime schedule for the workers," Mary said, clearing her throat. "With the warmer weather, perhaps we want to maximize what we get done now before Summer comes."

* * *

"Now, pretend that you're Mr. Patrick," Anna said, standing up and walking around the boardroom table. They had spread out a large calendar on the table with notes on what they knew about Patrick's activities in the three weeks before his death. A large map on the television screen had coloured dots showing what they knew of his whereabouts in that same time period.

"All right," Alex sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"What's important to you?" she asked.

"Hot blondes and cocaine," he shrugged.

"Besides that," she rolled her eyes.

"Brunettes? Redheads?" he suggested.

She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him.

"I'm being serious!" he smiled. "The man did not have nearly as much ambition as you all seem to think that he did. I know it isn't particularly suspenseful or dramatic, but it's entirely possible that Patrick simply pissed off someone and got himself killed. It happens."

"Then why kill him?" she asked. "If he's truly as harmless or stupid as you make him out to be, then he wouldn't pose a threat to anyone, would he? Why go to the trouble?"

"I don't know," he shook his head. "But I'm just saying that Matthew and Lady Mary seem to think that Patrick was up to something, that he had some grand plan going on that no one knew about. Maybe he was just an arse and he took the mick out of the wrong person."

"If he took the mick out of the wrong person, he'd end up with a bloody nose, a black eye, or a bullet in his head," she scoffed. "The way he was killed is too much trouble to go to over a petty disagreement. As useless as he may have been, Mr. Patrick was still a Crawley. No one would dare move against him without a very good reason."

"Then what's the reason?" he shook his head. "He didn't go anywhere of note from what we know, and even though he didn't bother showing up for work, it's not as though he was traveling across Europe or doing anything particularly unusual."

"Maybe his run-in with whoever ordered him killed happened earlier," she said. "We might need to go back more than three weeks."

"I have to say that I thought Patrick's life would be more exciting than this," he shook his head, pointing to the calendar.

"Shagging prostitutes and getting high and drunk every night isn't exciting enough for you?" she smiled.

"Not exactly, no," he laughed. "This is all quite ridiculous. Usually when you find the murder weapon, and the killer, you've solved the case. We've got both and we still don't have a clue."

"The problem is that he died from an overdose, and we know who gave him the drugs wasn't the killer," she said.

"Not to mention that the dealer is dead as well," he muttered.

Anna frowned, looking at the calendar. She tilted her head to read the notes.

Alex reached out and turned the calendar so she could get a better view.

"What is it?" he asked.

"How did you know to go and question Green that night?" she asked him.

"Ethel Parks told me that she overheard Patrick arguing with Green rather often, and I had his call log showing the numerous calls he made to Green the night that he died," he replied.

"Right, and I went to talk to him because I knew he was Mr. Patrick's dealer from having met him before and Mary's theory was there was something wrong with the drugs he took the night that he died," she said slowly.

"And?" he asked, looking over at her.

Anna looked up and met Alex's eyes.

"How did the killer know that Green was Mr. Patrick's dealer?" she asked.

Alex frowned.

"The Albanians couldn't have known beforehand. There's no indication that Mr. Patrick ever had any dealings with them," she said. "It's not as though it was public knowledge. Green had an entire network of dealers and runners that he worked with. He only met personally with a few select clients. Even I only knew him because he came here to the office and Mary told me who he was. How did the killer know to use Green to send those tainted drugs to Mr. Patrick?"

"Unless the killer was already close enough to Patrick to know that Green was his dealer," he nodded.

"Not just close though," she said. "It isn't as if Lady Sybil or Lady Edith knew who Green was, for example."

"Right," he nodded. "It had to be someone who either saw Green and Patrick together, or…"

"Had done drugs with Mr. Patrick in the past," she said.

"This is getting even more complicated," he shook his head. "So we've narrowed the field on who it could be to a few dozen now, if we count the people that Patrick could have done drugs with, but we still have no idea about motive."

"Well, let's make a list and see where it leads," she shrugged, sitting down at the table again and picking up her tablet.

"All right," he sighed. "We can at least cross off you, Matthew and Lady Mary to begin with."

"Fine," she smirked at him, beginning to type.

 **The Ledbury Restaurant, Notting Hill, London, England, April 2015**

"For you, we have a selection of our desserts, ordered by Mr. Crawley," the waiter announced as a plate of desserts was placed in front of each of Mary, Edith, Sybil and Matthew. "On the left is a strawberry tartlet with vanilla cream and edible flowers; next to that is a brown sugar tart, served with ginger ice cream; next chocolate with a cherry jam and sake shaped into a pavé, and finally, a cake of Richmond Park honey with buffalo milk, mead and thyme. Bon appétit."

Matthew nodded to the waiter and took up his dessert fork.

"We're supposed to have all of these?" Edith asked.

"There's also a cheese trolley that we can have them bring out, if you like," Mary smiled.

"This is delicious!" Sybil said, savouring the chocolate pavé.

Mary and Matthew smiled at each other, then began tasting the different desserts. They ended up swapping as Mary wanted more chocolate and Matthew wanted more strawberries.

"That was outstanding," Sybil nodded, pushing her plate away and having a drink. "So much better than Indian food."

Matthew quirked his eyebrow in question.

"Inside joke," Mary smiled, patting his hand.

"I'd heard really good things about this place, but that was very good," Edith nodded.

"Matthew is very particular about his food," Mary smiled at him.

"Is that so?" Sybil grinned.

"Papa enjoyed his food," Matthew nodded. "He never liked to leave Manchester, so we didn't take many trips beyond going to Downton, but we always had a proper dinner out on Saturday night. Even when I was at Cambridge, I'd try and go to a new restaurant each month when I could spare the time."

"It's a lucky thing you enjoy eating out, since Mary can't cook," Edith smirked.

"I can cook, thank you," Mary glared at her. "It isn't my fault that Matthew doesn't have a kitchen."

"Well, then we should plan a night where we can give the kitchen staff a break and you can cook dinner for us," Edith said.

"Fine," Mary said haughtily.

"I'll help," Matthew smiled at her.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow. "You're not very good at taking orders, you know."

"I'll peel and chop all the vegetables you want," Matthew nodded.

"Now this I can't wait to see," Sybil laughed.

"What about you all?" Matthew asked, sipping his sparkling water. "Any family traditions that you shared with Robert?"

The sisters all shared a bemused look.

"Papa isn't exactly the touchy feely type of parent," Mary said.

Sybil snorted.

"You visited us enough, Matthew," Edith said. "Do you remember ever seeing Papa take one of us aside and spend quality time with us?"

"I suppose I didn't, no," Matthew shook his head. "But I just assumed that he would have been the one to teach you all how to ride, or about the family traditions, that sort of thing."

"Carson raised us up on all of that, with input from Mama and Granny as necessary," Mary explained. "Papa would come in every once in a while to judge our progress and test us on our knowledge, but that was it."

"It would have been different had any of us been boys, but since we aren't, we were left to Mama," Sybil shrugged.

"I see," Matthew nodded. "What about when you began working for the company though?"

"Aunt Rosamund usually dealt with us, or various managers and staff," Edith said.

"Papa is rather old fashioned," Mary nodded. "Quite set in his ways."

Sybil rolled her eyes and drank some more.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, April 2015**

Mary walked the short distance from the elevator to the door of Matthew's suite. She gave a polite nod to the security guard, flicking the plastic keycard around and around between her fingers. It never occurred to her before why she preferred staying at his suite more than at Grantham House, but tonight it's crystal clear. This place is a sanctuary. It's Matthew's home, for all intents and purposes, but it's also entirely his – reserved by him, paid for with his money, with no connection at all to her family. She swiped the keycard past the electronic scanner and smiled as the green light flashed and the door beeped cheerfully, allowing her entrance. It's a relief and a blessing to escape here each night, she realized as she crossed over the threshold and closed the door behind her.

"Matthew?" she called out, removing her heels and lazily hanging her coat up in the hall closet.

"In here, darling," he replied.

She rounded into the living room and smiled at the sight of him lying on the sofa, looking up at her with a glazed expression. A glass of red wine is perched invitingly on the coffee table.

"Having a kip, were you?" she smiled, removing her blazer jacket and leaving it on a chair with her bag as she came over to sit down. She took a sip of the wine and closed her eyes to savour it. Putting the glass back down, she stretched out next to him, his arm wrapping across her stomach, his lips kissing the back of her neck lightly.

"I was," he admitted. "I was actually in the middle of a rather nice dream."

"Were you?" she said playfully, covering his hand with hers. "Need I ask?"

"What do you mean?" he said casually.

"It seems rather obvious what, and who, you were dreaming about," she teased, shifting back against him.

"Mmph," he complained as she rubbed against him. He stretched back against the sofa, pulling her with him, away from the edge to a more comfortable position.

"So what was I wearing in your dream?" she smiled, not looking at him.

"What makes you think I was fantasizing about you?" he asked mockingly.

"Well, if you weren't, you had best make up a very good lie immediately," she warned, her hand squeezing his.

"All right, all right, yes, it was about you," he laughed. "God, I'm a fucking besotted schoolboy. Even my subconscious is obsessed with you, it seems."

"I'm glad to hear it," she grinned, closing her eyes. "Well?"

"Mary, please," he whinged.

"Come on, Matthew," she goaded him. "With the day I've had, I could use the ego boost."

"All right," he frowned, kissing her cheek. "If you must know, you were wearing your riding kit."

"My riding kit?" she smirked. "Really?"

"Yes," he rolled his eyes. "I suppose I've seen you leave to take Diamond out so many times that your outfit lives in my memory."

"But there's nothing particularly revealing about that outfit," she frowned, turning to look back at him.

"No, it's not revealing," he blushed, not looking at her eyes. "But the pants are rather…tight."

"You were looking at my arse?" she smiled, her eyes bright with discovery.

"Maybe once, or a dozen times," he mumbled, swallowing nervously. "I couldn't help it."

"But the jacket's not anything special. It's buttoned up all the way to my neck," she grinned.

"Well, in my dream, you…erm…" he struggled.

"I'm not wearing the jacket, am I?" she chuckled.

"You're not wearing much of anything, actually," he coughed.

"Really?" she arched her eyebrow at him. "So, you fantasize about me topless, wearing my riding pants and boots?"

"Yes," he muttered. "Definitely with the boots on."

"Goodness," she smiled, turning her head and kissing him quickly. "And what? You're taking me in the stables at Downton, are you?"

"Mary!" he groaned.

"Bent over the table near where the saddles are kept?" she continued.

"Woman, please," he said tightly, closing his eyes.

"Hmm," she mused. "Perhaps I'll need to pay a visit to my tailor, then."

"What?" he asked, his eyes snapping open.

"Well, the shop that does all of my riding clothes is here in London," she said lightly.

"It…it is?" he swallowed.

"Perhaps if you're a good boy," she drawled. "I'll have a special outfit made up just for your enjoyment."

He gulped audibly.

She laughed at his obvious reaction, kissing him again before settling back down against him.

"Thank you for waiting up for me," she smiled.

"Of course," he replied. "Did you find the dress you were looking for?"

"I did," she nodded. "Mrs. Bute will have it dry cleaned and pressed and delivered here tomorrow in time for our dinner."

"So…how was your day?" he asked, holding her close.

"Dreadful," she huffed. "The highlight was going to The Ledbury."

"I take it the call with Robert didn't go so well," he noted.

"No, it didn't, but that wasn't a surprise," she sighed. "Papa was just…being Papa…but a bit worse than usual."

"That's strange. What could he have to complain about?" he frowned.

"Never mind. It'll all be forgotten until next month's reports, I'm sure," she grumbled. "Can I ask you something?"

"Would it matter if I said no?" he joked.

"No, but I think you have plenty of incentive to be agreeable," she looked at him pointedly. "When we were younger, what made you think that you didn't have a chance with me?"

"Besides the fact that we didn't get along, you mean?" he smiled.

"Yes," she nodded. "What I mean is, you never made an actual go of it. You never tried to impress me, or get my attention, or tried to change my opinion of you. Why not?"

"I suppose I thought that impressing you wasn't going to work. I didn't have the same background or lifestyle as the boys you were accustomed to dating, so I thought it was a lost cause, I suppose," he replied.

"Is that it?" she enquired. "You thought I was too much of a snob to consider dating someone middle class?"

"No, not exactly," he said. "I just thought that I didn't have the ability to dazzle you or entice you to get to know me in that way, so I gave up without even trying. I already told you that I was a bit of a coward about it."

"Did you ever think about me, when you were back in Manchester?" she asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "I would sometimes wonder what you would think if you came to watch one of my matches, or if you came to visit me at Trinity. When I began emailing and texting with Sybil more often, I would think about you. I'd sometimes ask her about you, try and see what you were up to."

"But as your websites took off and you became more successful, surely you thought about coming after me then?" she said. "If the only thing stopping you before was that you thought I was shallow, well you were rich enough to meet that criteria years ago."

"I never thought you were shallow," he smiled. "I just didn't have very much experience with women, so the idea of asking you out absolutely terrified me. I guess I expected that nothing would ever happen between us, so I got on with living my life, doing what I wanted, focusing on my goals and working to achieve them. I never had a plan to impress you. I never knew where to start."

"So even when Papa brought you here, and you knew we would be working side-by-side, you didn't think of it then?" she smirked.

"Well, of course I thought about it," he said plainly. "But it's not as if coming here improved my odds at all. You saw me as your rival, not as a possible boyfriend."

"That's true," she admitted. "Though I do think that working together did help me come around on you in the beginning. I saw that you weren't opposing me at every turn or out to make me look bad. It was rather shocking to see how much we had in common, actually."

"So, being myself ended up as the best strategy in the end," he smiled, kissing her.

"Oh, I don't know," she said mischievously. "Perhaps we would have hooked up years earlier if you'd been more assertive."

"Well, I guess that means we have a great deal of catching up to do," he smirked, undoing the top button of her blouse and kissing her more meaningfully.

"Shower," she said between kisses, turning to face him. "Shower, then catching up."

"Or we could catch up while we shower," he smiled before resuming their kisses.

"Cheeky," she laughed, finally disentangling from him and standing up. She took his hand and led him to the bathroom.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

Anna reached forward and touched her toes, lowering her head as she stretched, holding the positions for ten seconds before sitting back up and leaning back. She had to admit that there was an advantage to Alex having a decent workout room inside his flat. He complained when she did yoga in here, calling it a 'lame exercise', but it was nice to be able to avoid dealing with the crowds at the gym.

She crossed one leg over the other and turned to the side, stretching her back as she looked over at the mirrored wall. Another advantage was being able to work out while her boyfriend went out to get the groceries for the dinner that he would be cooking for her later. They both had worked late tonight, and he'd dropped her off before going on to Tesco. She was rather tired, but she forced herself to do a quick session anyway, hoping it would invigorate her a little bit.

Finishing her stretches, she stood up and went over to the table, grabbing for her towel. As she pulled it up, she accidently knocked her water bottle over, sending it crashing on to the mats covering the hardwood floor. The cap of the bottle came off and her pink coloured sports drink spilled all over.

"Fuck," she groaned as the liquid fanned out in long tendrils across the floor. She would need to clean that up. Alex was rather particular about cleanliness. He was religious about wiping everything down after using it – the weights, the mats, the bench, everything. Anna usually gave everything a quick spray and swipe of a towel as well, but she wasn't nearly as meticulous as he was.

She sighed and went over to the closet, hoping that Alex had the good sense to store extra towels and wipes in there, otherwise she'd have to head over to the kitchen and rummage under the sink.

She opened the closet and smiled as she discovered packages of Dettol wipes, spray bottles and towels. Grabbing a pack of wipes, she shook her head at how organized he was. There was at least a year's worth of cleaning supplies in here, if not more.

She frowned as she noticed what looked like a black toolbox sitting on the floor of the closet. What few tools Alex had, he kept in the hall closet. What was this? A small vacuum cleaner of some sort?

Without thinking, she opened the clasps of the case and flipped open the lid. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the contents.

Nestled inside the toolbox was a menacing looking black gun, with numerous accessories and pieces housed around it.

"Anna," a voice called.

Anna jumped in shock, spinning around and staring at Alex standing inside the door. Her mouth opened but she couldn't say anything.

"It's all right, love," he said, raising his hands in front of him. "I can explain."


	18. Chapter 18

**Previously:**

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

Finishing her stretches, she stood up and went over to the table, grabbing for her towel. As she pulled it up, she accidently knocked her water bottle over, sending it crashing on to the mats covering the hardwood floor. The cap of the bottle came off and her pink coloured sports drink spilled all over.

"Fuck," she groaned as the liquid fanned out in long tendrils across the floor. She would need to clean that up. Alex was rather particular about cleanliness. He was religious about wiping everything down after using it – the weights, the mats, the bench, everything. Anna usually gave everything a quick spray and swipe of a towel as well, but she wasn't nearly as meticulous as he was.

She sighed and went over to the closet, hoping that Alex had the good sense to store extra towels and wipes in there, otherwise she'd have to head over to the kitchen and rummage under the sink.

She opened the closet and smiled as she discovered packages of Dettol wipes, spray bottles and towels. Grabbing a pack of wipes, she shook her head at how organized he was. There was at least a year's worth of cleaning supplies in here, if not more.

She frowned as she noticed what looked like a black toolbox sitting on the floor of the closet. What few tools Alex had, he kept in the hall closet. What was this? A small vacuum cleaner of some sort?

Without thinking, she opened the clasps of the case and flipped open the lid. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the contents.

Nestled inside the toolbox was a menacing looking black gun, with numerous accessories and pieces housed around it.

"Anna," a voice called.

Anna jumped in shock, spinning around and staring at Alex standing inside the door. Her mouth opened but she couldn't say anything.

"It's all right, love," he said, raising his hands in front of him. "I can explain."

 **Chapter 18:**

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

"Geez, babes, you made me jump," Anna swallowed, touching her hand to her chest.

"Sorry," Alex said, taking a careful step towards her.

"I'm glad you're back," she said, struggling to open the pack of wipes. "I'm starving."

"Anna," he said, slowly getting closer to her.

"God, I can never get these things open," she mumbled, her hands shaking as she tried to pry open the plastic seam of the package. "Watch your step. I spilled my water bottle. Dreadfully sorry about that."

"Anna," he repeated, flexing his fingers as he got closer.

"Bloody thing," she said tightly, her fingers slipping as she tried again.

He reached out and took the package from her hands. She gasped at the contact and stared as he turned the pack over and pulled back on the pre-cut tab to open it.

"Thanks," she said cheerfully, snatching the pack from his hands and walking past him. She pulled a flurry of wipes from the pack and crouched down to clean up the spilled sports drink on the floor.

He watched her silently as she went about the task. Finally she stood up and placed the pack on the table.

"There," she declared, glancing over at him quickly, the back down at the floor. "Disaster averted."

"Anna, just…please…hear me out," he implored her.

"About what, babes?" she smiled, grabbing her towel once more and wiping her hands with it. She looked intently at the towel, keeping her eyes away from him.

"Anna," he said softly, coming to her side.

She swallowed and turned to look at him.

"You don't have anything to be afraid of," he said, shaking his head.

"Of course I don't," she smiled, blinking her eyes. "Why would I?"

"It's just that, I imagine it was quite a shock for you to…" he said.

"Why would you think that?" she frowned. "Oh, cause of your gun? Come on, that's nothing. I was just surprised to find it, that's all, but it's nothing. It's fine."

"It's all right to have questions," he nodded. "If I was in your place, I expect I would have a few myself."

"No, I don't have any," she shook her head vigorously. "It's your business and I don't need to know anything about it."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive," she nodded. "I told you, I've been in this job for years. It's not as though I'm not aware of what goes on. That isn't the first gun I've seen, you know."

"No, of course it isn't," he said, eyeing her carefully.

"Well, I'm…erm…I'm going to go shower and get cleaned up, and I expect a lovely meal to be ready for me when I get out," she said, backing away from him.

"I'll get on that, then," he said, watching her head for the door.

"Great," she nodded, turning and leaving the room briskly.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, April 2015**

"Matthew, I have to tell you something," Mary breathed, turning her head to the side. She let out a contented sigh as the soft pillow brushed against her cheek.

"Whatever it is, it can wait, surely?" Matthew asked her, kissing her stomach just below her breasts, then moving lower.

"I may not…" she hummed as he placed light pecks across her stomach. "I may not remember if I let you carry on."

"Darling you've already let me 'carry on' several times tonight. Or was my performance so forgettable that you need to be reminded?" he teased, his hands taking hold of her hips as he continued kissing around her navel.

"Oh, you're making this very difficult, you know," she moaned, her hand moving down to play with his hair.

"Good," he growled, licking her skin and reaching down to spread her legs.

"Wait, stop, Matthew," she gasped, her hands moving to his shoulders. "I do need to tell you something."

He chuckled and kissed his way back up her body, finally resting on his side and looking at her as she opened her eyes and smoothed her hair away from her face.

"Whatever this is, it had better be worth it," he said pointedly, grinning at her. "I was about to set a new record for us."

"Don't make me blush," she said wryly, before turning serious again. She took hold of his hand and played with his fingers to distract him. "It's just that we have a private event coming up at Crockfords later this week. The entire place will be closed off."

"Yes, I saw it blocked off in the calendar. That's what you wanted to tell me?" he frowned.

"Yes," she nodded, glancing over at him.

"Well, good, you've told me, then," he grinned, leaning over and kissing her stomach as he moved back down her body.

"Matthew," she said tightly, closing her eyes as he ran his fingers across her sides, causing her to tremble in anticipation.

"Mary, you've told me what you needed to tell me," he said huskily. "Now I want you to tell me how this feels."

"It's a private event for Citibank!" she said quickly, tensing up as she felt him stop his movements on her. She slowly opened her eyes and stared down at his frowning face.

"Citibank," he repeated.

"Yes," she nodded, giving him an apologetic smile.

"Fuck," he groaned, dropping his head to rest on her thigh. "And Henry will be there?"

"I'm afraid so," she said, running her fingers through his hair.

He shook his head, then moved up next to her and turned on to his back. Mary snuggled against him and rested her head on his chest, her fingers lacing together with his across his stomach.

"And there goes my good mood," he sighed.

"I'm sorry darling, but I'm having a final planning meeting with their people tomorrow and I wanted you to hear about it from me first," she said.

"It's all right," he grumbled, turning and kissing her forehead. "Thank you for telling me."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "We're not going to get any sleep until we do, are we?" he asked ruefully.

"Probably not," she admitted.

"All right, then," he muttered.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

Anna braced her hands against the warm tile, the water pouring over her as she stared at the drain below. She took slow, even breaths, the glass walls of the shower fogging up as steam rose all around her. The bottles of her shampoo and body wash sat untouched on the shelf recessed into the wall.

Her brain, heart and conscience wrestled with each other as she stood motionless under the shower. Alex was Matthew's assistant, just as she was Mary's. Like her, Alex took on rather specialized missions beyond the duties of a mere assistant – investigating Green, trailing the Albanians, looking into Mr. Patrick's murder. It wasn't surprising at all that he owned a gun, even one as apparently intricate as the one she found. She was used to being around armed men. She had worked with the Crawley Group security team for years, and it wasn't uncommon for one of the bodyguards to ride along with her in one of the company cars. She even knew that whenever she went out with Mary, even for something as harmless as lunch, or tea, or shopping, that there were men with guns watching their every move. Over time, it had become so normal that she didn't think twice about it.

But there was something chilling about finding Alex's gun. She wondered why he hadn't mentioned it before, though really when would it have come up in conversation? More worrying though, was why did he exactly have it? Was it just for protection? Had it sat in the case unused since he bought it? Or, did he use it often? Was there a side to him that she wasn't aware of? What was he truly capable of?

Anna didn't own a gun. At Mary's insistence, she had learned the basics of how to load, fire and unload one, but she considered those to be skills she never expected to use. Even when she was being held at gunpoint by Green, her only thought was to disarm him, not to turn the gun back against him.

She blinked several times and shook herself, standing up straight and reaching over for her shampoo. Her boyfriend owned a gun. Her boyfriend may have used it at some time. Her boyfriend may use the gun for purposes that he did not want to tell her about. How did she feel about all of that?

She squirted a generous amount of shampoo into her hand and began lathering it into her blonde hair. Closing her eyes, she tried to forget about ever finding the gun, but the questions swirled through her mind. She also couldn't decide if she wanted to know the answers or not.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, April 2015**

"I know you aren't going to believe me, but nothing ever happened between Henry and I," Mary said quietly.

"Of course I believe you," Matthew frowned, stroking her back slowly. "What would that make me if I didn't?"

"A jealous boyfriend," she replied. "And there's nothing wrong with that."

"Please," he scoffed. "We both know how petty and unattractive you would find such behaviour."

"Yes, I would," she agreed. "But I love you for you, all of you, the good and the bad. Just as I know that you love me, faults and all, though I don't have as many faults as you do."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm telling you that you have no reason at all to be jealous," she continued. "Not of Henry, nor anyone else, but I understand if you are, all the same."

"I'm not jealous!" he whinged. "I quite like Henry. He's a very…nice…fellow."

"Now you're just lying," she laughed. "You and Henry were never destined to be good friends, whether I was involved or not."

"And why not? We have similar interests. We both went to Cambridge. We both like nice cars…" he stated.

"First of all, he's a Liverpool fan," she noted.

"Well, yes, he's a fucking Scouser, that's true," he muttered.

"Matthew," she laughed, turning on to her front so she could look at him. "If I could avoid it, I would. I don't want to host this party, but you know how these things work."

"Yes, I know," he sighed. "When a big client books the entire casino for a night, they want us to give them the Royal treatment, which means Lady Mary Crawley, in all of her glamorous beauty, will be a part of it. They ask you to host them every bloody year."

"I know you won't care, but I did charge them a substantial premium, almost twice what they normally pay," she said.

"You're right, I don't care," he said plainly. "But I expect the media will be out in full force covering the event, which means it's excellent publicity for us."

"Exactly," she nodded. "And I may have convinced them to make a quiet contribution to the expansion as well. I know it's not easy for you, Matthew, but this is the image that we sell – that we offer a night of fantasy and excess. They could rent a ballroom somewhere and have a boring dinner but instead they come to us and pay handsomely for it."

"I'm well aware of how it works, and what everyone gets out of it, yes," he nodded.

She frowned slightly, then relaxed and looked at him, finally drawing his blue eyes back to her.

"Be honest with me," she said softly. "Tell me everything that's bothering you, no matter how small it may seem or how ugly it may make you look. Please, Matthew. I want to know."

He sighed and shook his head, glancing away for a moment, then back to her unwavering dark eyes.

"You're brilliant," he said finally. "You're smart, and well educated, and you know this business. You know it better than anyone else in the company. But during these events, these high rollers, these drunken bankers, they just want to put their arm around you, have a feel and take a selfie. It just bothers me that…"

"That they only want me for my body?" she finished.

He grunted and, after pausing a moment, nodded slowly.

"And that party you came to, years ago, the first time you saw me host a large event here, you were jealous, even back then," she suggested.

"Yes," he admitted, biting off the word. "I just remember what you were wearing, and watching you smile and laugh so easily with all of them. God, Henry lost a small fortune that night because he couldn't take his eyes off of you. You had the lot of them on a string, captivated, hypnotized…"

"And you wished that you were one of them?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "But it did make me think, back then, that if I ever got the nerve to tell you how I felt about you, how would I know if you were putting on an act or not?"

She smiled sadly. "And now, do you still think I'm putting on an act, Matthew?"

"No, I don't," he said, smiling for the first time. "I like to think I've gotten a bit better at telling the difference between the true Mary and the one on Twitter."

"Mmm, you're rather sure of yourself, aren't you?" she smiled, leaning forward and kissing him. "Well, would it help to remind yourself that no matter how many men I might smile at, or laugh with at this party, you're the only man who gets to take me home at the end of the night?"

"I suppose," he nodded. "Though I might need you to help remind me from time to time."

She laughed, kissing him again.

"You know, Citibank does have female executives as well," she said lightly, tracing her finger over his chest. "Perhaps _I_ should be watching _you_ that night, be wary of some pretty young thing who thinks she can lure my bloke into her clutches?"

"Don't play with me," he smirked, tickling her side.

"I'm serious!" she laughed, pressing against him. "You said it yourself. They have a few drinks, see a tall, handsome, sexy man with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in a custom-tailored Armani suit and they get all manner of ideas. You ought to be careful, Matthew. Some woman could have big plans for you."

"Then she is in for an equally big disappointment," he said firmly, turning her on to her back and kissing her soundly. "I'm already hopelessly attached to someone."

"As am I," she smiled, reaching up and caressing his cheek. "I'm yours, Matthew."

"I quite like the sound of that," he grinned, kissing her again.

"Good," she smiled up at him. "So can I trust you not to have a go at Henry?"

"Henry," he rolled his eyes again. "You know, he's the one who's always taking the piss out of me."

"It's because he knows that it bothers you so much," she explained. "You aren't very good about hiding your feelings when you're annoyed."

"That's because I want him to know that I find him annoying," he retorted. "Very annoying. If he isn't making some snide comment about United, he's bragging about some overrated and overpriced car he's got or whatever. Not to mention he's always walking around with a damn smirk. How do women actually fall for that?"

"This woman hasn't," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Well, you know he'll want to talk to you, so do behave. Or, I suppose you could just skip the event altogether."

"I'll be there," he said.

"You know, darling," she smiled. "Quiet confidence, as opposed to loud arrogance, is very attractive. A man who is comfortable in his own skin, and doesn't feel the need to compete with others all the time, well, I find that a very, very, big turn-on."

"Really?" he swallowed.

"Yes, really," she nodded.

"I'll keep that in mind," he stammered.

"Please do," she grinned, pulling him back down for another kiss.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

" _I thought you were here to kill me."_

" _What did you do?"_

" _I'm sorry."_

Anna frowned as she watched the movie. She felt Alex's arm across her stomach, his taller frame spooned behind her on the sofa, her head using his other arm as a pillow. When she came out of the shower, dinner was ready and waiting for her. She had three glasses of wine and tried to fill every silent moment with conversation, no matter how inane. After the dishes were put away, they retired to the living room and flipped the channels until they found a movie. Lying down on the couch with Alex, she tried to focus on how normal everything was. This was dinner with her boyfriend, followed by snuggling on the couch while they watched a movie. Nothing out of the ordinary about this at all.

She swallowed as the movie scene escalated into a full-on fight, the two men trading punches and kicks, one of them grabbing a knife, the other a magazine, bobbing and weaving at each other. There was no accompanying music, the only soundtrack the raw noise of fists hitting flesh. Alex had one of those expensive home theatre setups and the sound was all around her, as though they were in the room with the two men locked in combat, their grunts reverberating through her.

Alex frowned as he felt her tremble slightly in his embrace. His eyes drifted from the movie to look down at her. Raising his head slightly so he could see past her blonde hair, he noticed her eyes were wide open as onscreen, one of the men dove across the floor and picked up a discarded gun before turning on to his back and pointing it at his foe.

The gun fired.

The victim fell dead to the floor.

Anna gasped and shook at the sound of the gunshot and the thud of the body falling down. She placed her hand over her rapidly beating heart and took a deep breath.

"All right, love?" he asked with concern.

"Mmm hmm," she nodded quickly, shifting a bit on the couch.

On the screen, four assailants came charging into the room. The shooter turned his gun on them and fired quickly. The boom of each shot pounded from the speakers. The camera zoomed in on each kill, even stopping and showing the bullet moving in slow motion as it flew through the air to its target.

Anna shut her eyes and recoiled.

Alex turned off the movie and put the remote control down on the side table. He slowly sat up and brought Anna with him, holding her shaking hands in his.

"Anna," he said.

She opened her eyes, staring at him for a second, then looking down at their joined hands. She pulled hers back against her chest, rubbing her fingers together nervously.

"Anna," he said carefully. "You all right?"

She nodded quickly, biting her bottom lip. "It was just…the movie…I…"

He kept his hands to himself, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Anna, if you want to go home, if you would feel safer there, I understand, and I'll take you. Do you want to go home?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She shook her head.

"Do you want to talk about the questions that you have for me?" he asked.

She shut her eyes and exhaled, then opened them and looked at him. "Are you sure you want to go there?"

"I'm sure," he nodded. "I'll try and answer whatever you ask. I don't know if I can tell you everything, but I want you to know who I am."

She swallowed nervously, then raised her head and looked at him.

"Your gun," she said. "Why do you have it?"

"It's for work, well, it was for work," he replied. "I don't carry it with me, and I don't anticipate needing it in the future. I keep it for now in case of emergencies more than anything else."

She paused for a moment, then looked at him seriously. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Yes, years ago," he answered. "More than one."

"In self-defence?" she asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "But not all of them were in self-defence."

She frowned, looking down at her hands again.

"Is this something that you learned from working with Mr. Crawley, or…" she managed.

"No," he shook his head. "I learned certain…skills…long before I met Matthew."

"And since you met him and started working for him?" she enquired.

"I haven't had to use my gun, or my special skills, very much at all since I started working for Matthew," he confirmed. "It's actually quite refreshing to work for someone who doesn't believe in solving problems that way, and doesn't attract too much unwanted attention."

"Does Mr. Crawley know about all that you did in the past?" she asked.

"Matthew knows about most of it, not all of it," he said. "My former employer is rather adamant about privacy, and Matthew doesn't ask."

"I see," she said quietly.

"Now that you know what I've done, are you afraid of me?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said immediately.

"Are you afraid that by being with me, that you're putting yourself in danger? Because Anna, I swear that I would never…"

"No," she interrupted him. "I'm just…a bit overwhelmed, is all."

"That's understandable," he nodded.

"No, it's not because I found your gun," she explained. "I'm familiar with guns. I don't have one, but I'm not afraid of them."

"All right," he said cautiously.

"It's just a lot to take in," she struggled. "When you told me that you would protect me, I liked hearing that. I've never really heard it before. But, I thought you were just being a typical…man; that it was just bragging. It never occurred to me just what you're capable of going to, I suppose. Now that I know, well, a part of me feels as though I should be aghast, or fearful, and another part of me finds it sort of…fascinating."

He blinked.

"God, this sounds so fucked up," she groaned, covering her face with her hand.

"Love, I'll never let anything happen to you," he said, reaching out and taking her hands again. "And hopefully I don't need to use a gun to protect you, either. That was part of my life that is mostly in the distant past. I'm not that person anymore."

She looked at him in silence for a moment, then nodded. "All right."

He pulled her close and kissed her cheek, hugging her tight.

"That's probably enough excitement for one night. Why don't we forget the movie and go to bed?" he asked.

Anna nodded and they rose from the sofa. He put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him as they headed upstairs to the bedroom.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, April 2015**

"All right, what have you got?" Mary asked, taking her usual seat at the boardroom table.

"This is a list of people that we believe knew that Patrick used Mr. Green as his exclusive drug dealer," Anna said, passing a list to Mary and Matthew. Alex tapped his tablet and brought the list up on the large monitor on the wall.

Mary perused the list for a second, then looked over at Matthew. They shared a smirk before she turned back to Anna.

"Most of the people on this list are crossed off," she noted.

"Yes, they are," Anna nodded. "We couldn't come up with anyone who would actually have a motive to kill Mr. Patrick."

"Except for Lord Gillingham," Alex added.

"Who we think didn't do it," Matthew said, looking over at Mary.

Mary frowned at him.

"Fine, we are relatively confident that he didn't do it," Matthew said sarcastically.

"Yes," she said, looking at him pointedly before going back to Anna. "Next?"

"We're still going through Mr. Patrick's phone and the data from his USB stick that was found at his home," Anna explained. "The calendar entries and GPS data for the three weeks leading up to his death haven't yielded anything as of yet."

"So, we've still got nothing then," Mary stated, arching her eyebrow.

"Nothing yet," Anna qualified.

"God, Patrick's making life difficult for us even in death," Mary rolled her eyes, looking over at Matthew.

"With all due respect, are we perhaps making this too complicated?" Alex asked.

"In what way?" Matthew asked.

"All we really have to go on is Green's threat to Anna that someone put him up to sending tainted drugs to Patrick," Alex said. "If not for that, he would have died of an unfortunate overdose and that would be the end of it."

"And don't you think that the killer wants us to believe exactly that?" Mary asked.

"What if Green was lying?" Alex shrugged. "What if Patrick owed Green a lot of money and he got sick of supplying him for free and he wanted to send a message to his other customers? Really, anything is in play at the moment. All we have are theories based on suppositions, based on assumptions. We're just guessing."

"That's right," Mary nodded. "The real difficulty is that Patrick liked to do things on his own, despite his constantly having mates and girls around him at all hours. He never confided in me, or Edith, or anyone in the family. We would ask him what he was up to and where he was going, since he wasn't at work for days at a time, and he would just wave us off or give some stupid story about going to some party in Ibiza, or Paris, or wherever. If something was troubling him in the days leading up to his death, he never told any of us about it, which is why we're now left to retracing his steps and trying to reconstruct it all."

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "Because Patrick is inconveniently dead and can't fill in the blanks for us on what he was up to and who would want to kill him. We have to put ourselves in his shoes, and try and find out what he was thinking during that time."

"Actually," Anna smiled. "I think we can ask him about his plans."

Alex frowned at her.

"Rather, we can at least ask the one person who he may have confided in," she added.

 **Sushi Tetsu, Clerkenwell, London, April 2015**

Ethel Parks walked under the green banners hung above the door and into the small Japanese restaurant. She removed her sunglasses and adjusted her eyes to the dark lighting. She quickly realized that there was something very strange going on. For one, the restaurant was almost empty, which never happened. This was one of the more expensive and popular restaurants in the area. Second, a blonde woman in a designer black business suit was seated at the sushi bar waiting for her.

Ethel swallowed and walked briskly over, raising her chin and trying to look brave as she sat down at her assigned seat. Before she could say anything, a bottle of sake and a cup were placed in front of her. The server poured her a cup and left without a word. Taking up the cup, Ethel drank a small sip, keeping her eyes on the other woman. She placed the cup back down and took a moment before speaking.

"You're Miss Smith?" she asked.

"And you're Miss Parks," Anna nodded.

"Why'd you call me here?" Ethel glancing around the place quickly. "And how'd you get the place all to yourself?"

"I made a private booking," Anna smiled. "I didn't want any distractions while we had a bit of a chat."

"A bit of a chat," Ethel repeated. "About Patrick."

"About Patrick," Anna nodded.

"I already told that other bloke all that I knew," Ethel shook her head, reaching for the sake again. "The only reason I showed up is because you know where I work."

"And because you love sushi," Anna noted. A server came over and placed dishes in front of them. Ethel looked suspiciously at each intricately carved piece of sushi and sashimi.

"It's a special tasting menu that we've arranged for you," Anna explained, taking her chopsticks and grabbing a piece. She dipped into the soya sauce and took a bite. Ethel watched her carefully, not making any move towards the food herself.

"Go on," Anna nodded. "It's quite good."

Ethel carefully took a colourful roll and dipped it in the wasabi and soya sauce. She ate it slowly, watching Anna, then eventually allowing herself to enjoy the taste. They carried on for several minutes, eating in silence, each piece of fish even better than the last.

"All right, what do you want to know? I'm only going to be repeating myself," Ethel grumbled, sipping her green tea.

"How did you now that Alexander Green was Patrick's dealer?" Anna asked.

"Patrick told me he had a guy who could get whatever he wanted," Ethel shrugged. "I met Green a few times, never talked to him. I don't do any of that shit but Patrick liked to…afterwards…not like I could have stopped him, could I?"

"Did you ever see Patrick buy drugs from anyone else?" Anna asked.

"No, it was always Green," Ethel shook her head. "He delivered it personally everytime."

"And did he make any deliveries the night you entertained Patrick and Tony Foyle?" Anna asked.

Ethel frowned, then looked away and sipped her tea.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ethel said coldly.

Anna reached into her purse and took out her mobile phone. She placed it on the bar between them.

Ethel glanced down at it nervously.

"Don't make me play the video," Anna warned.

Ethel sighed and looked away, shaking her head.

"You lot have got fucking balls, you know that?" Ethel said bitterly. "You think I was just Patrick's whore, his little fucktoy, don't you?"

Anna frowned for a second, then resumed a neutral expression. "Are you saying there was something more between you?"

"What if there was?" Ethel huffed. "Not like you would believe me, anyway. What would you know about that sort of thing?"

"What sort of thing?" Anna asked.

"The sort of thing where the world stops when you're with someone," Ethel sneered, glaring at her. "Where for that one night you can be anything, anyone, do whatever you want without someone throwing it back in your face or judging you. Where all that matters is you and him and that's it."

"Try me," Anna said.

"You wouldn't get it," Ethel shook her head. "I know your type. You're vanilla. You're fucking all prim and proper like. You don't know what it's like to just put yourself completely in someone else's control and give them something no one else can. It probably scares the shit out of you, watching what I've done. But I did it all for him, and I loved it, all of it."

Anna watched as Ethel took another gulp of tea.

"Why would anyone want to kill Patrick?" Anna asked.

Ethel blinked, her lip curling in a nervous tick.

"You don't think it was an overdose, do you?" Anna stated in understanding.

Ethel looked down at her lap and shook her head. "I don't know. He didn't tell me about his life. That wasn't the way we were with each other. Being together was supposed to get us away from all that nonsense. We didn't let our separate lives intrude on that time we had."

"What did he tell you?" Anna asked.

"Nothing," Ethel shook her head. "He was always going on and on about how he was doing big things beyond the casino. He had dreams, you know? Running those casinos wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be bigger than that, not have to rely on his family so much."

"Did he ever tell you what those plans were?" Anna asked.

"No," Ethel said. "I thought it was just talk. I never knew why he wanted to change his life so much. He was rich, powerful, set for life. But I never questioned him."

"Did he ever have you entertain anyone else, besides Mr. Foyle?" Anna asked.

"Not in the same way, no," Ethel shook her head. "He would bring me along sometimes for these fancy dinners where he would meet with people, or someone would come over and say hello when we were out together. He never tried to hide me, you know? I never got names or anything like that but he wasn't embarrassed to be seen with me. He was different, like that. He made me feel special."

"How did you first meet Patrick?" Anna asked. "Who arranged it?"

Ethel scowled at Anna. "You don't know?"

Anna shook her head. "Why would I?"

"No, of course you wouldn't," Ethel laughed bitterly. "Miss Smith, I work for an exclusive agency. Not just anyone can order our…services. It's not just a matter of money. We don't cater to the new rich, or some stupid teenager who hit it big in tech stocks. You have to be referred to us, and only a very select clientele have those privileges."

Anna nodded. "So who referred Patrick to you?"

"He didn't need to be referred. He already had privileges set up for him," Ethel said, smiling for the first time all lunch.

Anna frowned in confusion.

"Patrick was a legacy client. He already had privileges because of his father. The Crawley men have been using our agency for generations," Ethel said.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, April 2015**

The paparazzi were positioned outside the front door, cordoned off the red carpet lining the entrance by velvet ropes. Sleek limousines would arrive at the kerb and various executives of Citibank would exit amidst the flashbulbs and shouts from the photographers. Officially, the event was a casino night for some of Citibank's finest employees, with a large donation to charity part of the company line. Unofficially, Mary went to great lengths to ensure the media never had access inside the casino and the only photographs from the event besides the red carpet arrivals were polite poses of Citibank executives with her and her staff, smiling and toasting to an evening of harmless fun. Really, it was entirely harmless, but all it took was one photo of a drunken banker dancing on top of a table with his tie around his head for Citibank to cancel their relationship with Crockfords. Mary made sure all the staff were under strict instructions beyond their usual confidentiality requirements. All of the guests were connected to the casino's wireless network so that her team could monitor any camera shots posted to social media before they went up, and security was on hand to make sure no one got too drunk or too rowdy. She'd been running events like these for years now and had built the desired reputation for exclusivity and discretion. The clients had the time of their lives, no one got embarrassed or did anything illegal, and Crawley Group reaped the rewards.

"Anything?" Matthew asked, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"The last of the top executives is arriving now," Mary said, scanning her mobile as texts came in from Anna. "We should be good in about five minutes."

"All right," Matthew sighed, glancing in his side mirror.

They'd been parked down the street for the past ten minutes waiting for the signal that it was their time to arrive. It was all rather ridiculous, having to leave the office to go and change, only to turn around and go back so that the paparazzi could get their photos of Mary. Matthew originally thought they would arrive separately and that Mary would have Taylor drive her to Crockfords so she could make a grand entrance. To his surprise and delight, she had informed him in no uncertain terms that he would be driving her in his car instead.

"Won't you be a bit cold by the end of the night?" he asked lightly, glancing over at her. Mary was wearing a sleeveless black dress that stopped just above her knees. As she was seated in his car, the dress rode up a bit, exposing her matching black stockings that stopped at mid-thigh. When she came out of the bedroom ready to go, he had to refrain from telling her what he truly thought of her outfit, and mentioning what the sight of her made him think of was entirely out of the question.

"I'll be fine," she smiled, looking up from her phone. "This old banger of yours does have a heater, doesn't it?"

"Old banger," he smiled, raising his eyebrow. "Can't say I've heard that in a while."

"Must be because no one's willing to tell you the truth to your face," she replied, looking back at her phone. "Anna says we can head over."

"Finally," he exclaimed, pressing the button to start the car.

He drove around the block and back around and joined the queue of cars lined up to approach the casino. Eventually a valet, motioned for them to approach, and as Matthew's black sports car pulled up to the kerb with the engine growling, the photographers let loose with their flashes.

"Hang on, darling," Mary smiled, touching his leg as he went to open his door. She leaned over and pulled him towards her.

"Aren't you afraid the photographers will see?" he whispered as he watched her lips draw near.

"Let them watch," she said sultrily, closing the distance and kissing him playfully.

She pulled back just as the doorman opened her door and the shouts and flashes from the paparazzi filtered into the car. Matthew tried to wipe the grin off his face as he quickly got out of the car and walked around to the kerb, reaching Mary just in time for her to take hold of his arm and walk down the red carpet together. They paused halfway to the door and turned, allowing the photographers to catch them perfectly centered with the casino door behind them. After several moments, Mary gave him a nudge and they turned and went inside.

"I'm going to go check in with Alex," he said, smiling at her. "Do behave. I'll be watching."

She rolled her eyes at him as he left for the elevator and she headed for the casino floor.

* * *

"Nice tux," Alex smirked as Matthew came into the security room. "The white vest and white tie suits you."

A large wall of monitors dominated one end, showing views from numerous cameras set up throughout the building. Matthew made a cursory glance over the screens before taking out his mobile and checking his messages and other matters.

"Everyone inside?" Matthew asked.

"They are now," Alex confirmed. "We've closed off the front and the photographers have all been dispersed. Player cards have all been handed out and the first round of drinks has been served."

"Good," Matthew nodded. He watched one monitor in particular as Mary was taking a photograph with a five Citibank executives. Among them was a taller man with slicked dark brown hair. Even the security camera could pick up his blue-green eyes as he flashed a row of perfect white teeth at Mary and she laughed at something he said.

"Henry's off to a quick start," Alex noted.

Matthew sighed and turned away, checking sports scores on his mobile.

* * *

"What's your game tonight, Henry?" Mary asked lightly, sipping her champagne.

"Whatever gets me the biggest jackpot," Henry smiled at her.

"Well, you should be careful," she said. "The House always wins in the end."

"Maybe, but I'm feeling quite lucky already," he nodded.

Mary rolled her eyes at him and took another drink.

"Where's Matthew?" Henry asked, glancing around. "I thought he'd be around here by now."

"He'll make his appearance later," she nodded.

"Perhaps he's gone on home?" he suggested. "This isn't really his type of party, is it?"

"Not exactly, no," she shook her head. "But he's not going anywhere. He's driving me home."

"Ah," he grinned. "So the both of you are still going strong, are you?"

"Very much so," she nodded, looking at him pointedly.

"Does that mean I need to keep my distance, then?" he teased. "Mancs are so quick to take offence. They love settling any perceived slight with their fists."

"Matthew's not like that," she retorted. "I don't make any promises as to what may happen if you annoy me, however."

Henry laughed and took a sip of his vodka and tonic.

* * *

"You've been rather quiet since your meeting with Ethel Parks," Alex noted, looking at Anna.

"I'm just nervous about tonight, is all," she replied, giving him a brave smile. "You know how Mary is. She wants everything to be just perfect and for us to be a few steps ahead all the time. I need to watch to make sure no one does anything stupid."

They wandered past the loud cheers of the group at the roulette tables and over to the High Limit Room where all the poker tables were full.

"So Miss Parks didn't know anything," Alex stated.

"Not really, no," she said. "It seems Mr. Patrick went to her for comfort, but wasn't too interested in sharing any details of his plans with her."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Alex nodded. "I imagine he didn't want to spend too much time talking when he was with her."

"Well, she did say that they would go out together," she noted. "It wasn't all just sex."

"Sure," he nodded. "A lot of men want the 'girlfriend experience'. They like parading around with a woman on their arm before they go back to the hotel."

"Are you speaking from experience?" she asked him quietly.

"What?" he frowned. "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she shook her head. "All I know about that…type…of work is from television and the movies. I don't know how realistic any of that is."

"Well, the only knowledge I have is from when I got Miss Parks to meet me so I could question her," he shrugged. "And that was hardly a typical liaison for her.

"How did you find her, again? I know she was listed in Mr. Patrick's mobile, but how did you get her to meet you?" she asked.

"I told Matthew about finding her," he explained. "Their regular appointment was listed in Patrick's calendar. You saw the notes he put in. It was obvious what he was meeting her for."

"So Mr. Crawley just had you call her directly?" she asked.

"No, Matthew made the first call," he said. "I had to call to reschedule, but by then I already had an appointment so they didn't ask for any details, just said I would need to pay double."

"So when you met with her, did she think you were Mr. Crawley?" she asked.

"I don't know. I assume she did, yes. Matthew's the one who set it all up," Alex said. "Why?"

"Just wondering," she said lightly. "I never read the report on how all of that came about."

They circled the room together, then walked back out to the main casino floor.

* * *

"Matthew! There you are," Henry said cheerfully, coming over and reaching out his hand.

"Henry," Matthew smiled, shaking his hand. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Always," Henry smiled, raising his glass. "Mary has truly outdone herself this year."

"It's quite impressive, yes," Matthew agreed.

"Shame about United losing to Chelsea at the weekend," Henry said. "I really thought you had them for a while there."

"That's all right," Matthew smiled. "I'm still basking in the thrashing we gave you at The Kop last month."

"A thrashing was it?" Henry laughed. "Well, when the bloody referee hands you the match by sending Gerrard off so quickly, I should hope you would win."

"Make all the excuses you want," Matthew smiled. "As long as you've got Rodgers at the helm, you'll not win anything."

Henry shook his head and smiled.

"They showed your arrival on the televisions in here," Henry said. "GT-R, hmm? Not bad."

"It's a GT-R Nismo, actually," Matthew corrected him. "The power delivery is incredible. What German monstrosity are you driving now?"

"Audi R8," Henry said proudly. "Though I'm about to get the newer version sometime this summer. Brand new V10. Debuted at Geneva last month. Orders begin in May, but I have a man who's already made sure I get one of the first ones."

"Congratulations," Matthew said wryly.

"Thank you," Henry smiled. "You know, Audi allows all new owners to spend a day on the track at Silverstone once we receive our cars. Perhaps I'll bring Mary along. She always did like riding with me."

"Good try," Matthew smirked.

Henry laughed, raising his glass to Matthew. Matthew regarded him for a moment, then tapped glasses with him.

"Well done, Matthew, well done," Henry laughed. "I still cannot believe it, but good for you."

Matthew smiled and rolled his eyes, taking a drink.

"Come on, though, Matthew, give me something," Henry said quietly, leaning closer to him. "She's a live one, isn't she? She has to be."

Matthew frowned at him, then glanced across the room to where Mary was holding court, surrounded by six young men wearing expensive suits and following her every word, smile and arched eyebrow.

"My lips are sealed, Henry," Matthew said, eventually looking back at him.

"Surely you must want to brag, even a little bit?" Henry asked, incredulous at Matthew's composure.

"No, not at all, actually," Matthew shrugged.

"Well, why the hell not?" Henry laughed.

"Because I know it's absolutely gutting you to wonder just what we get up to," Matthew grinned.

Henry laughed and finished his drink.

"Another? On me," Matthew smiled, waving a server over.

"Thank you," Henry nodded, taking another vodka and tonic from the girl's tray.

"You know, Matthew," Henry said. "I never did get a chance to pass along my condolences on the loss of Patrick."

"Oh, thank you," Matthew nodded, slightly surprised. "Yes, I suppose I haven't spoken to you since he died."

"I know the two of you weren't family, but you know, Patrick spoke very highly of you," Henry said, sipping his drink.

"What?" Matthew frowned at him. "I wasn't aware that you spent time with Patrick."

"Oh yes," Henry nodded. "We met at The Palm Beach about two years ago. We got to talking, mainly about cars and such. I actually took him out to Donnington once. Patrick was a rather rubbish driver, though."

"Yes, he was," Matthew smiled. "Just a bit worse than you, actually."

"Don't even," Henry smirked. "Anyway, we kept in touch and your name would come up from time to time. 'Matthew's brilliant' he would say. 'He'll be in my spot someday'"

"When did he say that?" Matthew asked in surprise.

"A few months ago, actually," Henry nodded. "Recently we'd gotten to talking about raising some venture capital for him. He always had these grand ideas and wanted to know how much the bank would get behind him. Nothing ever materialized, but I always did enjoy listening to him. When he really got going, he was quite the speaker."

"Do you remember any of the pitches that he made to you?" Matthew asked.

"Not especially," Henry frowned, thinking for a moment. "They never got beyond the preliminary stages. Patrick was always 'Henry I've got something coming down the pipe for you' and whatever."

"I see," Matthew nodded. "You wouldn't happen to still have any of the files that you opened for these discussions, would you?"

"I can't see why I wouldn't," Henry said. "Probably just a few notes and emails saved at the office."

"If you wouldn't mind taking a quick look next week and sending over anything you have," Matthew suggested, passing him his business card. "Robert didn't take Patrick's loss very well, and it would be nice to cheer him up if I could show him that Patrick had ambitions in the last weeks of his life. It would help show that Patrick became the businessman we all wanted him to be. I think Robert would appreciate knowing that."

"Of course," Henry nodded. "I'll get it to you first thing Monday."

"Thank you, Henry," Matthew smiled. "I'll refrain from telling Mary what a shit overpriced car you're getting."

"You'll have to do better than that," Henry smiled. "You're coming to Silverstone with me when I pick it up."

"God, all right," Matthew grumbled. "But I'm driving."

"We'll see," Henry laughed.

They were interrupted by Henry's mobile vibrating. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his iPhone.

"Important call? You can go over to the atrium if it's too loud," Matthew said.

"No, it's not that at all," Henry shook his head, looking intently at his phone screen as he swiped his finger across it. "That was just my alarm, reminding me to put in a few bets."

"Ah," Matthew nodded. "You gamble online?"

"Yeah," Henry smiled. "One of the other lads in the office turned me on to this website with really good odds on Premier League matches. I always wait until Friday evening to put in my bets for the Saturday games."

"Interesting strategy," Matthew said pleasantly.

"You should think about it," Henry suggested. "They have all of United's matches. The interface is actually very easy, and they accept , which I find more convenient than credit card."

He turned his mobile around and showed Matthew the website he was using to place his sports bets.

"No thanks," Matthew smiled, recognizing the website. "I don't really like betting on sports."

* * *

"You didn't report in when you got back from Clerkenwell," Mary said quietly, pulling Anna aside as the party continued on around them. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Anna nodded. "I just needed to get ready for tonight and didn't have time. I'm sorry. I'll have a full report to you tomorrow morning."

"It's all right," Mary nodded. "Did you find out anything from that woman?"

"She was in love with Mr. Patrick, and she felt that he was in love with her," Anna said.

"How cute," Mary rolled her eyes. "Like _Pretty Woman_ without the comedy. What did she say about Patrick's last days?"

"She didn't know much of anything," Anna whispered. "She said that Mr. Patrick always talked about moving on from the company and doing something of his own, but she didn't know any details."

"So she's of no use to us," Mary shrugged. "Well, it was worth investigating, anyway. You didn't learn anything more than Alex did the first time around."

"That's not entirely true," Anna said ruefully.

"What does that mean?" Mary frowned.

Anna swallowed nervously.

"Lady Mary," a hostess called, coming over to them. "Sorry to interrupt, but they're asking for you in the High Limit Room. The senior partners want you to join them at their table."

"I'll be right there," Mary nodded. The hostess bowed her head slightly and left.

"Go," Anna told her. "I'll put everything in my report tomorrow."

"All right," Mary said, looking at Anna carefully before turning and leaving for the High Limit Room.

* * *

Matthew walked the casino floor, glancing left and right and observing the shenanigans taking place all around him. It was really no different from a regular busy night at Crockfords, save for the fact that tailored suits were the clothing of choice and the clientele skewed even more overwhelmingly male than usual. He stopped and watched Henry get on a bit of a hot streak at a Caribbean Stud poker table. The two men exchanged knowing smiles before Matthew moved on.

On evenings like these, Matthew was grateful for his relative anonymity. Beyond the staff, he wasn't easily recognized, either here or at any of Crawley Group's other properties, and he liked it that way. Since arriving in London in the fall, he'd improved his networking skills, but it still didn't come easily to him the way it did for Mary. He preferred being able to blend in and watch, rather than being the centre of attention.

He veered over to the High Limit Room and arrived just in time to hear a loud cheer go up from one of the larger tables in the back. Peering across the room, he noticed Mary sitting in the middle chair, older Citibank executives occupying the other positions at the table, with a raucous crowd watching on as the cards were dealt. Mary's face was lit and her eyes bright as she sipped her drink and waited patiently. When she received her cards, she took on a stonefaced expression, revealing nothing as she took a quick look, then made her bet.

Since his arrival, his relationship with Mary had run the full gamut of situations and emotions, he thought. They had gone from bitter rivals to polite colleagues, polite colleagues to casual friends, casual friends to lovers, lovers to a full relationship, only to waver off kilter, then work their way back to each other again. Sometimes it seemed that they had lived out an entire lifetime of drama in but a few short months.

One of the Citibank senior partners won the hand and Mary and the others applauded him before refreshing their drinks and waiting for their new cards. Mary spoke animatedly, making eye contact with everyone at the table, and even glancing at some in the crowd so to keep their attention. She smiled and nodded, drawing laughter from all around her. She even high-fived a few of the executives, in a sophisticated manner of course.

Matthew smiled, then turned and moved on to another area of the casino, leaving the sound of Mary's teasing voice behind, together with the booming laughter that she received in reply. He stopped in at a crowded table every once in a while, checking on the guests and ensuring they were all well supplied with drinks and chips. The evening still had hours to go yet, but it was going to be a smashing success, he knew, for both Citibank and Crawley Group.

* * *

"Mary says we're free to go," Anna said, coming into the foyer. She turned around and allowed Alex to help her into her coat, before she faced him again.

"Not a moment too soon, I'm exhausted," Alex smiled. "Where should I bring you?"

"Let's go back to mine," she nodded, meeting his eyes. "I feel like having waffles tomorrow."

"I can do that," Alex agreed. He looked at her carefully for a moment, before leaning closer. "You all right?"

Anna hesitated for a moment, then reached down and linked her hand with his, squeezing him tightly.

"I am now," she nodded, giving him a small smile. "It's been a long day, a long week, and I want you to take me home and help me forget all about it."

Alex's brow creased for a moment, then he leaned down and kissed her softly.

"Anything you want, love," he said, escorting her out the door to his waiting car.

* * *

"I wondered where you disappeared to," Mary smiled as she leaned against the doorframe of Matthew's office. "Checking scores of the West Coast games?"

"Very good," Matthew smiled, clicking through several browser windows on his monitors. "I said goodbye to all the senior partners. Are all the stragglers gone?"

"Every last slurring, slobbering one of them," she nodded. "I received quite a few glowing reviews from the executives when they left tonight."

"So you should have," he nodded. "Everything went smoothly tonight. I think the only crisis we had was when we momentarily ran out of those tiny sandwiches."

Mary smiled knowingly, looking down at the floor before she resumed watching him work.

"Thank you for tonight, darling," she said. "I noticed you having a laugh with Henry. The two of you were almost inseparable for a while there."

"I told you that Henry can be nice when he puts his mind to it," he chuckled.

"Well, he seems to think the same about you," she grinned. "He mentioned to me that you got along famously when he said goodnight. He shocked me when he said the two of you are going for a drive together at Silverstone when he gets his new Audi."

"I did agree to that, sadly," he muttered, staring intently at one monitor. "But it might be well worth the aggravation if the information that I asked for from him proves to be helpful to us."

"What information?" she frowned.

"Henry was apparently friends with Patrick," he said, looking up from his monitors.

"Really?" she exclaimed, stepping into his office and folding her arms across her chest.

"I couldn't believe it either," he shook his head. "They met at The Palm Beach years ago and kept in touch. He said that Patrick had approached him for financing a few times."

"Financing? From Citibank? For what?" she asked.

"Venture capital, Henry said," he answered, nodding to Mary pointedly.

"Money for one of his grand plans,' she nodded.

"Something like that," he agreed. "Henry was short on details but he said he still has the files from his meetings with Patrick. He's going to send them over next week."

"If he told Henry what his plans were, we might be able to find out if he had partners or not," she said slowly.

"Or if his plans bothered the wrong people," he added. "Anyway, it's a possible lead. Did you speak to Anna? Did she find anything out from Ethel Parks? I didn't get a chance to talk to Alex about it."

"She said she didn't learn anything new, well, not much new anyway," Mary shrugged. "She'll do a full report tomorrow. I wasn't able to really talk to her about it tonight."

"Obviously," he smirked. "You were too busy bewitching your band of bankers."

"Ha ha," she rolled her eyes. "Is my boyfriend going to be chauffeuring me home in the near future, or shall I call Henry to bring his Audi over to whisk me away?"

"I'm sure he would love nothing more," he huffed, getting up from his chair and coming around his desk to her.

"Well, he's out of luck, I'm afraid," she smiled as Matthew reached her side and took hold of her waist.

"Is that so?" he smiled.

"Mmm hmm," she nodded playfully. "When it comes to sports cars, it seems I've developed a taste for Japanese."

"What a coincidence," he smiled, kissing her lightly.

Taking her hand, Matthew escorted her to the lift and downstairs. They said goodbye to some of the cleaning staff and made their way to the back entrance where Matthew's car was parked.

"God, it's rather cold, isn't it?" Mary complained as they stepped outside.

She smiled as Matthew removed his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders, his hand going to her waist as he steered her towards his parked car.

"Thank you," she said, looking at him warmly.

"Well, we can't have Lady Mary freeze, can we? What would the press say about that?" he teased.

He pointed his remote key at the vehicle and the headlights flashed and the car chirped as the doors unlocked. A second later, the engine roared to life.

They reached his car and he opened the door for her. She slid into the passenger seat, keeping his coat on as he closed her door and went around and got in on his side. He buckled his seat belt and put the car into gear as he turned it towards the street. Mary reached across and placed her hand on his thigh, staring out at the streetlights as Matthew drove them back to the Shangri-La.

 **Women's Wellness Centre, KK Women's and Children's Hospital, Singapore, April 2015**

"Ah, look at this!" the nurse said, waving her fellow nurses over to her computer.

"Woah! Who is that?" one of them said, looking at the photograph of a tall blond haired man with blue eyes wearing a tailored black tuxedo. He was posing with a slightly shorter woman with pale skin and shoulder lengthy dark brown hair, wearing a black dress, black stockings and black heels.

"That's Mrs. Crawley's son!" the first nurse exclaimed.

"Aiya…" another nurse nodded. "He is fine!"

"He's obviously taken," another nurse sighed. "That's got to be his girlfriend."

"Where is this from?" the second nurse asked.

"Just a few hours ago," the first nurse said. "It's from some party in London from last night."

"What are you all of you gathered around looking at?" Isobel asked cheerfully, coming to the nurses' station and putting her files in a tray.

"Mrs. Crawley! You never told us that your son was so good looking!" the first nurse said with wide eyes, turning the monitor around for Isobel to see.

"Oh!" Isobel blinked, looking at the photo of Matthew and Mary from outside Crockfords. "Well, it's not like me to brag, you know."

They all shared a laugh.

"Sadly, girls, I'm sorry to inform you that the woman you see there is Lady Mary Crawley. She's Matthew's girlfriend," Isobel nodded, pointing at Mary's image.

"Oh, I've heard of her!" the second nurse nodded. "I've seen her mentioned at London Fashion Week before and there was a photo of her at the Formula One race a few months ago."

"Yes, Mary and Matthew work together," Isobel smiled. "They've actually known each other since they were children, but only started dating recently."

"Aww, that's cute," the first nurse smiled.

"You'll let us know if he's ever single though, won't you Mrs. Crawley?" the second nurse asked seriously.

"I will keep you all in mind, yes," Isobel laughed. "Now, I'm out at an appointment for the morning, but will be back this afternoon."

"Yes, Mrs. Crawley," the first nurse nodded.

Isobel shook her head in amusement as she got into the elevator and went down to the ground floor. She wasn't used to seeing photographs of Matthew splashed across the internet, let alone a photograph of him and Mary. She had to admit that they did look gorgeous together, and Mary seemed to be genuinely happy standing next to him. Of course, Matthew's face was glowing. It always did when Mary was around.

"Maybe Violet was right about them after all," Isobel muttered to herself as the elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the atrium of the hospital.

She went outside and quickly found a taxi to take her to her appointment with one of her patients. Normally Isobel didn't meet with patients outside of the hospital, but it was the weekend, her schedule was light today and she knew her patient didn't have a family member available to drive her to the hospital. It was sunny and warm, but not too hot, so Isobel didn't mind getting some air.

The photograph of Mary and Matthew reminded Isobel that she needed to talk to Matthew later today. Given the time difference between London and Singapore, and seeing how it appeared that Matthew was probably up quite late last night, she would wait until the evening to call him.

Isobel was so preoccupied putting a note in her phone to call Matthew that she didn't notice a man and a woman in a black Mercedes had followed her from the hospital and were now tucked in several metres behind her taxi.


	19. Chapter 19

**Previously:**

 **Women's Wellness Centre, KK Women's and Children's Hospital, Singapore, April 2015**

"Sadly, girls, I'm sorry to inform you that the woman you see there is Lady Mary Crawley. She's Matthew's girlfriend," Isobel nodded, pointing at Mary's image.

"Oh, I've heard of her!" the second nurse nodded. "I've seen her mentioned at London Fashion Week before and there was a photo of her at the Formula One race a few months ago."

"Yes, Mary and Matthew work together," Isobel smiled. "They've actually known each other since they were children, but only started dating recently."

"Aww, that's cute," the first nurse smiled.

"You'll let us know if he's ever single though, won't you Mrs. Crawley?" the second nurse asked seriously.

"I will keep you all in mind, yes," Isobel laughed. "Now, I'm out at an appointment for the morning, but will be back this afternoon."

"Yes, Mrs. Crawley," the first nurse nodded.

Isobel shook her head in amusement as she got into the elevator and went down to the ground floor. She wasn't used to seeing photographs of Matthew splashed across the internet, let alone a photograph of him and Mary. She had to admit that they did look gorgeous together, and Mary seemed to be genuinely happy standing next to him. Of course, Matthew's face was glowing. It always did when Mary was around.

"Maybe Violet was right about them after all," Isobel muttered to herself as the elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the atrium of the hospital.

She went outside and quickly found a taxi to take her to her appointment with one of her patients. Normally Isobel didn't meet with patients outside of the hospital, but it was the weekend, her schedule was light today and she knew her patient didn't have a family member available to drive her to the hospital. It was sunny and warm, but not too hot, so Isobel didn't mind getting some air.

The photograph of Mary and Matthew reminded Isobel that she needed to talk to Matthew later today. Given the time difference between London and Singapore, and seeing how it appeared that Matthew was probably up quite late last night, she would wait until the evening to call him.

Isobel was so preoccupied putting a note in her phone to call Matthew that she didn't notice a man and a woman in a black Mercedes had followed her from the hospital and were now tucked in several metres behind her taxi.

 **Chapter 19:**

 **Bitexco Financial Tower, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, April 2015**

Rose frowned at her computer monitor. She surveyed the rows of data, the seemingly unintelligible mass of numbers speaking loud and clear to her. She moved her mouse over to the office phone application and clicked on Jack's line. Adjusting her headset she looked back at the data as he picked up her call after the first ring.

"Yes, Lady Rose?" he answered.

"Jack, why is the transfer speed out of North America down?" she asked.

"It doesn't appear to be on our end," he reported. "We're showing all connections as within normal parameters. Could just be increased traffic. User logins are at a new high for the month."

"Get on it, whatever it is," Rose snapped. "The night matches over there are already underway so we're going to see a wave of new activity in about two hours when the late games start."

"I'll take care of it personally," he assured her.

"Yes, do," she said. "I should hate to have to cancel our dinner plans because you're too busy working late."

"You won't need to do that," he replied. "I have a table at your favourite restaurant."

"Oh, don't worry about that," she smirked. "I'll see that it gets used, even if you aren't there."

"Yes, Lady Rose," he said before hanging up, and she glanced out her office window to see him lean back in his chair shake his head.

Rose frowned when a pop-up window on one of her monitors told her she had an incoming call. Touching her headset, she turned her chair and looked out the window.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, answering the call.

"Hello, darling," came the reply.

"Don't call me that," she scolded him.

"Why not?" he chuckled.

"Because I'm not your darling, Atticus," she rolled her eyes.

"Not yet," he retorted.

"Not anytime soon, the way you're going," she bit back.

"Oh, quit putting off the inevitable, Rose," Atticus scoffed. "Why don't you fly over here for a visit? If you leave a touch early this afternoon then we can have dinner."

"I have dinner plans, thank you," she said lightly.

"Then cancel them," he said.

"No," she countered. "I've been looking forward to it all week and I won't change my plans at the last minute just because you can't bother to get organized."

"God, it's with Jack isn't it?" he grumbled.

"That's none of your business," she stated.

"So you aren't denying that you have plans with him," he said.

"I'm not admitting that I do, either, but I will tell you that he at least has the courtesy to ask me in advance, rather than spring something on me so abruptly."

"Get over yourself, Rose," he drawled. "He's your lackey. Is that where the appeal comes from? You like playing the boss out of the office as well?"

"As though you'll ever get to find out," she frowned. "Maybe he likes to be the boss outside of the office, and maybe I just may let him."

"Oh, God," he groaned. "I didn't think he was your type. All those muscles and the slick hair, and…God…"

"Atticus, was there something that you wanted? You're supposed to be working, you know?" she demanded.

"Yes, well seeing as the pleasant part of the conversation is over," he said haughtily. "I'm calling you because I've got a Code 8."

"A Code 8?" she sputtered, turning back to her monitors. "Are you quite sure?"

"Of course I am, darling," he said smugly. "We've got eyes on two of them – a man and a woman, driving a black Mercedes. They followed her from the hospital and now they're parked a ways away from the patient's home that she's currently visiting. I'm transmitting the video feed now on stream 6."

"How do you know they're a threat?" Rose asked, typing away furiously as she brought up the camera shot on her screen. She stared intently at the image of a parked black Mercedes, making out a driver and a passenger seated within.

"What do you think they're up to, Rose?" he said sarcastically. "Just out for a little drive in a residential area? I don't know what their play is, but they're tailing her. That's enough for me, and you know it would be more than enough for Matthew."

"Bloody hell," she muttered, shaking her head. "What assets do you have in play?"

"I've got her team in position and sufficient cover for when she leaves the patient's house," he said. "I just need to know if I've got full authorization or not."

"No, you don't," she ordered. "Maintain position. Priority remains on guarding Isobel. I'll clear your instructions within five minutes."

"Understood," he said.

"Thank you, Atticus," she said genuinely. "I'll get back to you."

"Yes, darling," Atticus said and hung up.

Rose quickly brought up the keypad on her screen and called the familiar number. She calculated the time difference and sighed in exasperation. Calling at this hour would not be well received, but it couldn't be helped.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, April 2015**

Alex blinked several times, the darkness of Anna's bedroom filling his vision as the bright light of his phone screen flashed on the nightstand. He lifted his head and reached over for it, his eyes snapping wide open when he finally read the call display.

Getting out of bed quickly, he walked into the ensuite bathroom and closed and locked the door behind him, leaving the lights off. He turned on the tap and took a quick drink, wetting his dry mouth and throat. Leaving the water running, he brought the phone to his ear.

"Lewis," he said quietly.

"Rose," came the reply.

"Quick step," he said guardedly.

"Macarena," she answered right away.

"What have you got?" he said curtly, frowning in the dark.

"Code 8," Rose said. "Two targets. One male. One female. They look like locals. They've been following Isobel for the past hour. She's at a patient's home at the moment. We have coverage of the area. Atticus wants to know if he has full authorization," she summarized.

"No," he shook his head. "Not unless there's an imminent threat. What tracking capabilities does his team have?"

"They're relatively mobile," she answered. "We can support them from here, but it isn't ideal. I can have him put a GPS tracker on the car and assign one person to surveillance to see where they go, but if we aren't going to engage them yet, he doesn't have the numbers for both blanket coverage on them and maintaining Isobel's normal complement."

"Do it," he ordered. "I want your extraction team on standby alert, Rose."

"Extraction?" she questioned. "Already?"

"Rose…" he warned her.

"Right, I'm on it," she said.

"Thank you. Good work, Rose. I'll report in the morning. Keep me updated," he said.

"Alex, what about Matthew?" she asked nervously.

"What about him?" he retorted.

"Come on, Alex. She's his mother," she pleaded. "He deserves to know."

"That's not your call. Stay focused, yes?" he said pointedly.

"All right," she said reluctantly. "But I still object."

"Noted," he replied drily. "Goodbye, Rose."

Alex hung up the call and exhaled. He turned off the tap and paused for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle. He hadn't heard Anna wake up when he got out of bed. Maybe she hadn't noticed his absence yet. Both of them would get up in the middle of the night from time to time. Maybe she wouldn't ask him about it? He frowned slightly before slowly opening the door. He made his way back to bed in the dark, hoping she was ready for another revelation.

Sliding back under the duvet, he turned to spoon against her, then blinked in surprise.

Anna wasn't there.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, April 2015**

Mary leaned against Matthew as they walked towards the door of his suite, her arm wrapped around his biceps. She was still wearing his tuxedo jacket, as well as a rather mischievous smile.

"You're drunk," he chuckled, swiping his keycard across the scanner and opening the door.

"I am not!" she said haughtily, releasing him and swaying into the dimly lit room. The lights were low and the glow of the buildings outside came in through the windows. She kicked off her heels and wandered into the living room.

"Oh, you're not?" he smiled, leaving his shoes in the foyer and following after her. "What would you call it, then? Just delightfully tipsy?"

"I'll have you know that I am in full command of all of my faculties," she sniffed, raising her chin to him. "Watch."

Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and smiled as Mary began carefully walking in a straight line. Three steps into it she put her arms out to balance herself, laughing as she crossed the distance to the windows with just one slight wobble. She turned around to face him, smiling at her apparent success.

"I think you're supposed to be able to walk normally without swaying" he needled her.

"All right, all right. Hang on a second," she laughed, snorting briefly. She raised her hands in front of her and tried to look serious, failing miserably as she laughed again.

"If only your besotted bankers could see you now," he joked, shaking his head.

"I'll have you know that all of the senior partners congratulated me on this being the best event yet," she said pointedly, her hands on her hips. "If Papa isn't careful, I might just get my expansion financing from Citibank and squeeze him out completely. Let's see what becomes of his legacy when I control the purse strings for once."

"Now that would be something to see," he grinned.

"Let that be a warning to you," she said, arching her eyebrow. "Don't ever mess with Lady Crawley Mary!"

He raised his eyebrow at her.

"Crawley! Mary Crawley!" she said quickly, realizing her mistake. "Don't ever mess with Lady Mary Crawley!"

"Indeed," he smirked.

"Oh, fuck off," she frowned. "You're one to be so smug. If I left you in charge, we'd be losing money hosting parties for the Royal Horticultural Society or some dull gathering of librarians or something."

"I freely admit that Citibank are far more interested in you hosting them than me," he nodded. "As evidenced by the number of drinks they obviously bought for you."

"I am not drunk!" she declared. "One, I'm not slurring my words. B, I can walk perfectly well, and I'm able to maintain conversation. What's the next part of the sobriety test?"

"Hmm," he said, thinking it over. "Stand straight, tilt your head back, close your eyes and count to thirty."

"Pssh, easy," she scoffed. She looked up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes. "One…two…three…"

He stepped forward and took hold of her hips. Leaning in to her, he kissed her neck softly.

"Seven…eight…nine…ten…" she said, turning her head away to help him as he kissed his way up her neck to her jawline.

"Eleven…twelve…" she whispered as he kissed the spot just below her ear, his chest firm against her back.

"Thirteen…fourteen…" she swallowed. He moved his hands down and pulled her dress up her thighs, baring the tops of her stockings and exposing her lace panties.

"Keep going," he growled, his one hand moving up her front, ghosting lightly over her breast and up to her chin. He gently tilted her back so she was resting her head on his shoulder, kissing her cheek as his hand moved back down her body.

"Fifteen…" she gasped, eyes shut tight, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

He pulled his tuxedo jacket down her arm, then reached up with his left hand and fondled her breast through the thin silk of her dress and bra. His right hand snaked across her thigh, then dipped beneath the waistband of her panties.

"Sixteen…" she moaned.

He growled wickedly as his middle finger reached inside of her and discovered her arousal.

"Naughty minx," he hissed, adding a second finger and stroking her slowly and smoothly.

"Matthew," she breathed, turning her head towards him and arching her back. She swayed in his hold, rocking back and forth on her feet as he strummed his fingers in and out.

"Good?" he asked, licking her warm skin.

"Oh God, yes," she groaned, eyes still shut, breathing in his scent as her hips moved faster, grinding herself against him. He stiffened against her swaying arse, his body moving with hers.

"Are you getting close?" he asked casually when her ragged breathing turned into fast pants, changing his pace to long firm thrusts.

"Yes!" she whimpered, reaching back and grabbing hold of his thighs, moaning loudly as she searched for her release.

He flexed his wrist, pressing down on her with his palm, then curling his fingers into her centre once again. Mary cried out as he found the spot he was looking for and he smiled devilishly and pressed down on her again, rubbing across her sensitive flesh.

"Open your eyes, Mary," he ordered.

Her eyes shot open and the lights of London burned brightly before her. From the 38th floor she could see for miles into the distance, the entire city laid out before them. They were the rulers of all they surveyed and heat flowed through her at the thought, the two of them standing here, grinding against each other in wanton abandon, lost in primal need and desire, all that mattered was each other and a growing desperation to reach bliss.

She turned her head towards him, kissing his face, murmuring against his skin as he gave her the friction she needed. Her lips reached his ear, the normally refined voice that could cut glass now a snarl that thrilled him.

"Keep going...keep going…fuck!" she groaned. He brought his other hand down between her legs and touched her spot as he thrust the fingers of his other hand in deep. She flew over the edge at this final contact, burying her head against his neck and crying out.

He held her as she shook, stilling his hands, his pulse racing from watching and feeling her fly apart, his mind high from the knowledge that this was Mary and that he had done this for her.

"Did I pass the test?" she smiled at him, her half-closed eyes clouded and dark as she took deep breaths, her legs feeling delightfully weak.

He laughed and let go of her, keeping his eyes on hers as he brought his fingers up to his mouth.

She felt a jolt of arousal as she watched him, her lips parting as he licked his fingers, his blue eyes glowing from both the reflection of the city lights and his own lust. Finally finding the strength to move, she took his hand, leading him to the bedroom, not bothering to lower her dress back down.

"Did I mention how smart I think this tuxedo looks?" she asked, taking off the jacket and casually tossing it on to a chair. She stepped over to the bed, then turned around to face him.

"This old thing?" he smiled, coming over to her and placing one hand on her hip while the other moved around and cupped her bottom.

"It fits you quite well," she smiled, reaching up and undoing his tie, sliding it around his collar and dropping it to the floor. "Armani?"

"Of course," he gulped as she undid the buttons of his shirt, kissing his skin lightly as she uncovered more and more of him.

"Of course, and custom tailored, of course," she laughed, flicking his vest open with deft fingers. She stood up straight and glanced at him playfully as she raised his arm, resting his hand against her cleavage as she undid his cufflink and loosened his sleeve. She did the same with his other arm, then pushed his vest and shirt off him, her hands running over his bare chest.

"You're quite good at that," he mumbled, his hands shaking slightly as her fingers moved to his belt.

"Well, this isn't the first time I've undressed you, is it?" she teased, undoing his belt and loosening his trousers enough to drop them down his legs.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage," he said knowingly, reduced to just his boxer briefs and socks.

"Well, we can't have that," she said with mock concern, arching her eyebrow at him before she slowly turned around.

"Would you mind?" she asked lightly, not looking back at him so he couldn't see her grin.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second as he unzipped her dress. He slid it off her arms and peeled it down her body until it fell to the floor. She slowly turned around again, wearing just her bra, panties and stockings.

"Better?" she smiled.

"Better, but technically we still aren't even," he said, his voice catching slightly.

"Ah," she chuckled, her laugh warm and sultry. "That just won't do."

She sat down on the bed, making sure she had his complete attention as she reached behind her. He was almost drooling as she undid her bra and slowly took it off, holding it out to the side before dropping it on the floor. Leaning back, she arched her eyebrow at him as he shamelessly ogled her body.

"And now?" she asked, crossing one long, stocking covered leg over the other.

"Ladies first," he grinned cheekily, his eyes falling to her bare breasts and back up to her face.

"What a gentleman," she rolled her eyes.

"All right. I'll go first," he said.

She watched him intently as he put his hands on his hips, then reached down and removed one sock.

"That's cheating!" she complained.

"No it isn't," he shrugged. "You have three items of clothing left, and I…"

"Stop talking and fuck me," she commanded, reaching out for him.

He gasped in surprise as she grabbed the waistband of his boxer briefs and yanked him towards her. He put his hands out to brace himself above her, and she took the opportunity to force him over on to his back. Straddling him, she captured his mouth in a fierce kiss, forcing a groan from his mouth as she reached between them and took hold of him.

They quickly removed their underwear, forgetting all about their teasing game. He sat up and kissed her as she lowered herself onto him, both of them moaning together as they joined and quickly found a steady rhythm. He leaned her back and dropped his head to kiss her breasts, his arms wrapped across her back, steadying her as she moved on him. She caressed the back of his head as he feasted with his lips, tongue and fingers. It was rather typical how obsessed he was with her breasts, but his eagerness had turned to skill long ago, and now she let her head fall back, allowing him his prize as the building sensations washed over her. She became louder the closer her second release came, choking out his name amidst her moans, which only made him thrust into her faster.

"More, more," she gasped, leaning forward for leverage and increasing the pace of her hips.

He turned them over, putting her on to her back and lifting her legs, spreading them so he had full and complete access to her. She dared to look down between their bodies, the sight of their joining giving her a dark thrill. Her eyes moved up to his parted lips and wide eyes. She squeezed around him and he blinked in surprise, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he thrust harder in reply. Back and forth they fought before they found a frantic rhythm together. Her louder cries were addictive, making him push deeper, determined to see just how unravelled she would become.

"Fuck! Matthew!" she grunted as her second release broke, his hips slowing down just a bit as he rode her through it. She found the strength to reach for him, her hands circling around and squeezing his behind, pulling him tighter against her as he finished his strokes.

Her name flew from between his clenched teeth as he leaned over her. She lifted up and kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth, quieting him for a moment, and pushing him closer and closer to completion.

"Now, Matthew, now," she begged. "Please, please, I want to feel you…"

His mind reeled at hearing her voice and he thrust one last time, groaning loudly as he let go.

She hummed in satisfaction as he finished, her legs falling to the bed, her arms hugging him as he fell against her, his forearms supporting part of his weight.

After several long breaths, Matthew turned on to his back. Mary snuggled against him, her heart beating as fast as his.

"I love you, Mary," he whispered.

"Love you, darling," she smiled, her arm and leg draped across his body.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, April 2015**

"Couldn't sleep?" Alex asked as he came up behind her and hugged her.

"Sorry, babes, did I wake you?" she smiled, stopping her typing for a moment and leaning back against him. "Just wanted to get going on this report while the details are still fresh in my mind.

"It can wait until morning, at least, can't it?" he asked, kissing the top of her head, then moving around to sit down on the chair next to her. "I doubt that Lady Mary will even be looking for it until at least the afternoon."

"By the time Mary is actually looking for it, I'll already be in trouble. It's supposed to be over to her before she even thinks about where it is," she smiled, going back to her laptop and typing away.

Alex leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her for several minutes. Her blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, her sash of her robe cinched tightly around her waist. When they got back from Crockfords, they'd had a quick shower then went straight to bed, just a few kisses and cuddles between them before he embraced her and they fell asleep. He observed now that her brow was crinkled in concentration, how she would tuck her lower lip beneath her teeth for a second as she typed away.

"Anna," he said softly.

"Yeah?" she answered brightly, not looking at him.

"What did Ethel Parks tell you?" he asked.

"You know already," she shrugged, still not looking over. "Mr. Patrick never shared any of his plans with her."

"Then why do you need to finish a report so urgently that says you didn't learn anything?" he asked.

"It's just…" she swallowed. "It's just procedure, is all."

"Anna, love," he said gently. "Look at me, please."

She stopped typing and stared at the keyboard. After a moment, she slowly turned to meet his eyes.

"I'll never ask you to choose between me and the company," he said. "I expect there will always be things that you can't tell me, just as there are things that I can't tell you, no matter how much either of us may want to. But, please don't ever believe that you can't come to me with anything that's bothering you. What is between us remains between us, always. I work for Matthew, but I love you."

He got up from his chair and leaned over and kissed the top of her head before heading back to the bedroom.

Anna stared down at the table as the sound of his footsteps trailed off down the hall.

 **KK Women's and Children's Hospital, Singapore, April 2015**

"Mobile 1, status please," Atticus said into his headset, glancing around the hospital atrium.

"Matriarch is back in the Wellness Centre. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. Maintaining position," the guard replied.

"Acknowledged. Mobile 3, status please," he said.

"Targets are sitting on a bench outside the front entrance. Black Mercedes parked nearby."

"Acknowledged. Maintain positions."

Atticus typed away on his laptop before taking a sip of his tea. The benefit of using the hospital as their base was that they blended in quite easily. The lobby cafeteria was full of people working away on computers, mobiles and listening to music on large headphones. The sight of Atticus dressed in casual clothes and working away on a laptop with a headset in his ear was not inconspicuous at all.

"You don't think she really has a date tonight, do you?" he asked his friend sitting across the table.

"Oh, come on, not this again," Charlie groaned, looking up from his crossword puzzle. "We're on assignment, Atticus."

"We're allowed to talk when we're on assignment," he replied defensively.

"This isn't because the other guy's black is it?" Charlie asked.

"Of course not!" Atticus grimaced. "What do I care if he's black? I got plenty of black mates!"

"Yes, you do," Charlie nodded. "But you know what they say…"

Atticus blinked, then his mouth fell open. He quickly reached for his tea.

"Oh, no," he stammered, sipping his tea. "That's not it. That can't be it!"

Charlie smirked and went back to his crossword.

"She isn't like that, Charlie!" Atticus snapped.

"I never said she was like anything," Charlie said innocently.

"But you implied it!" Atticus pointed out. "You implied that she…that she would…find that…appealing."

"How would I know?" Charlie frowned.

"Suppose most women…would…" Atticus grunted, his cheeks flushing.

"Possibly," Charlie acknowledged. "It can't be a bad thing for him."

"Bloody hell," Atticus groaned.

Charlie smiled and continued his crossword.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, April 2015**

Alex opened his eyes at the lights being turned on in the bedroom. He watched as Anna came over and sat down on her side of the bed, playing with the ties of her robe.

"We need to talk," she mumbled.

"All right," he said slowly, turning over on to his side and looking at her.

"Ethel Parks did tell me something, and I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to put you in a difficult position," she said, looking at him.

"But?" he probed.

"But I have…questions…and to get the answers I'm looking for, I need to tell you, and I'm afraid you'll be put in a difficult position regardless of what I do," she explained.

"All right," he nodded. "What is it?"

"Are you going to repeat this to Mr. Crawley?" she asked.

"Not if you don't want me to," he said.

"What if it makes him look…bad?" she asked.

"If something in your report to Lady Mary makes Matthew look bad, then whether I tell him or not isn't going to change that, is it?" he noted.

Anna looked down at her hands, then back up at him.

"Ethel Parks told me that Mr. Patrick was a legacy client. The reason that she met him in the first place is because the Crawley men have been using the agency that she works for over generations. Apparently his father used their…services…as well," she said.

Alex frowned, considering the information. "All right," he said carefully. "What does that have to do with Matthew?"

"If the Crawley men are all aware of this agency and have been using their girls for years, then who's to say that Mr. Matthew didn't partake from time to time?" she suggested.

"You think Matthew used prostitutes?" he asked incredulously.

"You said that he was the one who…reserved…Ethel for you," she noted. "Why would the agency agree to that unless they knew him already? They didn't just accept new clients on a whim. You have to be connected first."

"But Matthew's not a Crawley, at least, not from that line of Crawleys anyway," he smirked. "It could be as simple as they assumed he was part of the family when they heard his name. Or, say he knew that Patrick dealt with that agency before."

"Yes, I thought about that," she admitted. "But what if it's not?"

"Wait a minute," he frowned. "How is any of this relevant to Patrick's death?"

"Well, it's not. Not really," she managed.

"So what's the problem?" he asked. "Are you concerned that Matthew used prostitutes, or are you concerned that he still is?"

She swallowed nervously and looked away.

"Or are you worried that he's not the only one using these services?" he said suspiciously.

Anna blushed, then looked down at her hands again.

"Hey," he said, reaching over and covering her hands in his.

She slowly looked up at him.

"First of all, I don't think you understand the history here," he smiled. "Matthew's been in love with Lady Mary since probably the age of 8. He would never cheat on her, I'd bet my life on it."

She kept watching him.

"Second, Matthew just isn't that type of man," he continued. "Yes, he likes expensive cars and nice clothes and fancy restaurants. The man's rich, he's going to enjoy a certain type of lifestyle. But he's never surrounded himself with women just for appearances or anything like that. I think the only time he's ever been in a strip club was for a friend's bachelor party, and if I recall correctly, he left early."

She didn't reply.

"Now, he's not a choir boy, that's true," he nodded. "And I suppose he's always had the opportunity to indulge in whatever he wanted to, since he knew Patrick when they were younger and he's been a part of the company for so long. But I just can't see it. I can't say for sure what he got up to before he and Lady Mary started dating, but he's a faithful chap, Anna. There's just no way. When you finally find the woman of your dreams, you don't do anything to jeopardize that."

She blinked.

"Besides, when would he ever find the time?" he asked. "He and Lady Mary are inseparable. They're together even more often than you and I are."

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"Is that what you think we get up to?" he asked. "When we're at Maxims or The Palm Beach? You think we just hole up in the office with whores and cocaine and have a right orgy, do you?"

"No!" she retorted. "It's just…"

"It's just that you know that's what Patrick used to do, and you think the lure of money and power does things to a man, don't you?" he said.

She blushed.

He sat up and faced her, his hands coming up to cup her face, drawing her eyes to his.

"You, Miss Smith," he whispered. "Are all the woman I need. I've wanted you from the moment we first met, Anna. How could you ever doubt that?"

"I don't know," she sighed, bringing her hands up and holding his. "It's stupid, and petty, but you and Mr. Matthew and your fast cars and designer suits and guns and money…"

"This isn't a movie, love," he chuckled. "We're not a couple of gangster playboys. We're just two normal blokes with a particular talent for making money in sports gambling. That's it."

"God, I'm sorry," she frowned.

"Don't be," he said, leaning forward and kissing her lightly. "Even though I should probably feel insulted, it's understandable in a strange way, I guess. The world that you and I live in isn't entirely normal."

"I guess I was just worried for Mary," she said. "This is the first time since I've known her that I think she's actually in love, and I don't want her to get hurt."

"I think that Lady Mary is perfectly capable of taking care of herself," he smirked.

"Yes, but," she struggled, finally looking right at him. "This is the first time I've really been in love too, and I don't want to be hurt either."

"You won't be," he smiled, kissing her again. "I won't allow it."

 **KK Women's and Children's Hospital, Singapore, April 2015**

"Command, this is Mobile 3. Targets are on the move," the guard reported.

Atticus frowned at Charlie. They quickly bundled up their gear and headed out to the parking lot.

"Mobile 3, we'll take up pursuit. Wait for them to leave, then move to position 4 and resume normal protection duties," Atticus ordered as they reached the car. He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot slowly.

"Got their signal?" he asked.

"It's strong," Charlie confirmed, mounting his mobile phone on the dashboard. "What do you want?"

"Let's go with video and audio," Atticus said, picking up the black Mercedes several cars ahead of them. "Maybe we'll get lucky and pick up something."

Charlie reached behind the driver's seat and pulled out a black case, bringing it forward and on to his lap. He snapped it open and removed a parabolic microphone, turned it on and made sure the Bluetooth connection was registering on his phone.

"We'll need range inside a 100 feet," Charlie said, adjusting the microphone.

"Not a problem," Atticus nodded, signalling and passing the car in front of them.

 **Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, April 2015**

"Telephone for you, Lady Grantham," Spratt said, bringing the handset over to her chair. "On your private line."

"Thank you, Spratt," Violet nodded. She took the handset and looked out the window on to the grounds.

"Yes," she said.

"There's a Code 8 situation in Singapore," Alex said. "Two targets, seem to be locals, following Isobel since this morning."

"Current status?" she asked.

"She's still at work for another two hours," he said. "The targets left the hospital about an hour ago. Atticus is trailing them. I told him not to engage."

"No, no, don't have him do that," she scoffed. "Let's find out what we can about them."

"Rose is on it. She wanted it known that she thinks Matthew should be told," he said.

"Of course she did," she laughed. "That girl is almost as loyal to him as Sybil is. You said no, though."

"Yes, I did," he confirmed. "He needs to know about this as much as he needs to know about what happened to his father's killers."

"Agreed," she nodded. "Very good. Carry on."

"One other thing," he said. "I think we should consider extraction."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she frowned. "Isobel will not take very kindly to it, I assure you."

"Yes, I realize that, but I'd feel better if she were at least back in Manchester, or ideally with you," he said.

"If she was to come and stay with me, then you would need additional guards to keep us from each other's throats by the end of the first week," she chuckled.

"You don't believe that," he said pointedly.

"I'll speak to her after she's done work. Make sure she isn't followed home. I'd rather she have at least one safe haven over there," she ordered.

"Yes, Lady Grantham," he said.

"Thank you, Alex. Goodbye," she replied, hanging up the call.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, April 2015**

Alex hung up the phone and put his mobile down on the coffee table. He turned and watched Anna's anxious eyes.

"There you have it," he said, sitting back down on the sofa.

"That story, about what happened to those men who killed Dr. Crawley," she said. "That was you?"

"I was part of the team," he nodded. "When Dr. Crawley was killed, Isobel was a mess. We were worried she wouldn't make it through the year, she was so devastated. Matthew was crushed too, but he was the one to call Lady Grantham."

"Asking for her help," she said.

"Yes," he nodded. "He didn't want to go to Lord Grantham about it. He didn't want to deal with it at all, really. So, he asked her to look into it and take care of it for him if she could. Of course she said yes, on the condition that he wouldn't ask her about it afterward, and understanding that she would spread the rumour that he had taken care of it personally."

"And he still doesn't know what happened? To this day?" she asked.

"He knows nothing," he said. "He just assumes that a team of professionals hired by Lady Grantham took care of it. In a way, that's true."

"But he's responsible for security for Lady Mary and her sisters now," she noted.

"He is," he agreed. "But Dr. Crawley died seven years ago. He's grown up a lot since then. We all have. And, the legend of how he dealt with those bastards has served him well. There's no need for him to know the truth. Sometimes, I wish I didn't know it, actually."

"So why are you telling me?" she asked.

"Because I know you're worried about what I used to do," he said. "And I don't want you to be afraid, or have any doubts. If we're to make a go of this, we need to trust each other, and you've always been honest with me, so now it's my turn."

"It's not that I'm afraid of you, or that I don't trust you, that's not it exactly," she said nervously. "It's that I never really pictured myself being with someone like you, and every once in a while I suppose I get a bit scared wondering how much longer this can last."

"Well, would it interest you to know that originally Matthew promised me that we were only going to stay here for about ten months before we went back to Manchester?" he smiled. "And I recently requested that we stay here indefinitely."

She smiled in return. "Really? And why would you do that?"

"It seems I found a very good reason to hang around," he grinned, leaning over and kissing her. "If you'll have me."

"I will…for now," she laughed.

He shook his head, then pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly.

 **Terminal 2, Singapore Changi Airport, Singapore, April 2015**

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled.

"No, it's not," she shrugged as they waited in line.

"We have business class lounge access, and yet you want to have McDonald's," he shook his head.

"I like the pineapple pie. They don't have it back home," she explained.

"You've already had three of them this week," he complained.

"What are you saying?" she frowned.

"Nothing," he retreated.

"It had better be nothing," she warned.

"Anyway, did you send our report?" he asked as the line moved slowly.

"Already did. Schedule, photographs and maps," she nodded.

"I still don't know why they flew us here just for surveillance," he sighed.

"Because we blend in well," she stated.

"Yes, fair enough, but why just surveillance? If she's as valuable enough a target for us to come all the way here, then why just take some pictures and leave?" he asked.

"Why don't you ask Mr. Hightower the next time you see him if it bothers you so much?" she challenged.

"No, thank you," he huffed. "I quite like being employed."

"That's a good boy," she teased. She turned and stepped up to the counter, smiling brightly at the teenager waiting to take her order.

"Two pineapple pies, please," she said cheerfully.

He waited patiently for her to take the small boxes filled with the precious treats, her face lit up as she carried them out into the terminal. He ignored how she deliberately savoured each bite, raving about the taste as they made their way to the security checkpoint.

"Did you get all that?" Atticus asked, watching their quarry walk away into the distance.

"Got it all," Charlie nodded, replaying the recording and listening through his earpiece. He discreetly tucked the wireless microphone back into his messenger bag and zipped it up.

"Who do you suppose this Hightower is?" Atticus frowned, checking to make sure the two targets were now out of their sight.

"Search me," Charlie shrugged. "Maybe someone back in London will recognize the name."

"Email me the voice and video files. I'll call Rose and report in. Go and grab the car and bring it around, won't you?" Atticus asked.

"Will do," Charlie nodded. "So long as you grab me one of them pineapple pies."

"I was just about to go get one myself," Atticus smiled, patting his friend on the shoulder as he got up from the table and joined the line at the take away counter.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 2015**

"Mrs. Bute mentioned you were in here," Sybil smiled, coming into the parlour. "Hi."

"Hello, you," Matthew smiled, looking up from his mobile. He exchanged cheek kisses with Sybil, then went back to his phone as she walked over to the bar and got a bottle of water from the small fridge.

"When are you taking your bike back out?" she asked, sitting down on the sofa opposite him.

"Any day now, hopefully," he said, still staring at his phone. "I was late getting it into the shop for a tuning after the winter, so I should have it back within a week."

"Then watch out, Green Park," she joked.

"Don't you start," he smirked. "Mary already threatened to unite the runners of the city against me should I stray into their territory."

"Wow, between the runners and the cars, you have enemies on all sides," she laughed.

"It seems that way," he shook his head. "I'm going to bring my bike to Downton next month and get in a proper ride on some nice empty country roads."

"It'll be good to have you there," she nodded. "Every time I go back now, it seems I'm bored out of my mind within a day or so. Either that or Mama has some new plan for my future."

"They're just concerned about you," he smiled. "And they will continue to be concerned about you as long as they believe that you're still in school to delay joining the family business."

"Even if I weren't in school, I wouldn't be joining the family business," she huffed.

"Yes, I think we're all well aware of that, but parents can be rather delusional sometimes, especially when it comes to the baby of the family," he nodded.

"Shit, please don't call me that," she rolled her eyes. "What are you up to that has you so engrossed in your mobile? Checking footy scores, are you?"

"Not this time," he laughed. "Anna sent over a report to us and I'm just going over it now. Mary's changing upstairs so I expect I've got at least twenty minutes."

"More," she laughed.

"Where's Edith?" he asked. "Isn't she coming along with us?"

"I told her I'd text her the restaurant once we decide," she nodded. "She went out early this morning to yoga."

"Yoga? I thought she gave that up?" he frowned.

"She's back into it, at least for now," she shrugged. "I think she's got a crush on one of the instructors."

"Seriously? A yoga instructor?" he frowned. "That would have your Papa seeing red. It might even be considered worse than anyone you've ever brought home, Sybil."

"You're hilarious," she said wryly. "We all can't be lucky enough to snag the golden boy, you know."

Matthew laughed, then frowned as he scrolled through Anna's report.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Hope not," he sighed, getting up from his chair. "I've got to go up and see Mary. We'll be down in a bit. Think about where you want to go to eat."

Sybil sipped her water and watched him leave the room, headed for the stairs.

* * *

"Come in," Mary called, not bothering to turn her head to look at the door. She suspected she knew who it was already. Her sisters seldom knocked and none of the staff came to her bedroom unless she rang for them.

"Mary," Matthew said, coming inside and closing the door behind him.

"I'm almost done," she said simply, hunting through her dresser drawer. "Have you decided on a place yet?"

"I told Sybil to think about it," he said carefully, moving towards her. "I've got a few spots in mind."

"Good," she nodded, taking out two shirts and going over to the full length mirror near her bed. "Edith's meeting us wherever we end up going."

"I heard," he said, watching her hold each shirt up over her chest, trying to decide which one to wear over her silk camisole.

"I read Anna's report," he stated.

"Yes, a bit disappointing that nothing came from questioning Miss Parks a second time," she said, dropping one shirt to the bed and picking up the second. "But we had to make the effort, I suppose. It was rather optimistic to think Patrick would confide in his favourite tart."

"It was a bit of a long shot," he agreed, watching her closely. "What did you think of the rest of it?"

"The rest of what?" she asked, deciding on a shirt and pulling it on. She went over to her vanity and took out a brush, straightening and combing her hair.

"The rest of Anna's report," he said.

"What about it? There wasn't anything particular of note," she said, finishing up with the brush and grabbing a hairpin from her vanity drawer. "Did you see anything that caught your interest?"

"Not really," he replied. "I was a bit surprised by what Miss Parks said about how she first came to meet Patrick."

"Oh, that part about her agency having a longstanding affiliation with the men of my family?" she asked, checking her reflection in the vanity mirror, then turning around to face him.

"Yes, that part," he said, eyeing her cautiously.

"Well, it's not really a shock," she noted. "Patrick was so lazy that he couldn't even find a whore without asking his father to do it for him, apparently."

"Apparently," he nodded. "Though I did wonder if you were curious as to how far back this affiliation with your family actually went."

"I'd rather not know," she grumbled. "It was bad enough knowing what Patrick got up to, I don't think I want to waste my time hearing about the escapades of one of my great uncles some decades ago."

"No, of course not," he said quickly.

"You know, escort services weren't always about just the sex," she said. "Women would serve as hostesses, companions, confidantes and even spies during War time in the last century. Aristocrats and powerbrokers would show up at Society parties with ravishing women on their arms and deploy them to find out their rivals' darkest secrets. Their purpose wasn't always limited to the sordid."

"Distract and disarm," he nodded.

"Precisely," she shrugged. "Not that I would care to learn about any of it, but in a family like mine, where we don't believe in threats or bludgeoning someone about the head until they talk, it's possible that the Crawley men used this agency for quasi-legitimate reasons."

"A glamorous intelligence unit, as it were," he smirked.

"Something like that," she laughed. "Though I think it's quite obvious what Patrick used the agency for, not surprisingly."

Matthew chuckled and shook his head.

She looked at him curiously for a moment, then smiled knowingly. "You thought that I suspected you of using this agency, didn't you?" she declared.

"No!" he objected. "No, no, I didn't think that at all, no."

"Well?" she smiled, walking towards him. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" he swallowed nervously.

"Did you ever pay for it?" she smirked, backing him up until he was trapped against the bedpost.

"No!" he said firmly.

"Not ever?" she smiled. "Even before you and I started seeing each other?"

"Never!" he replied vehemently. "Why would I?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe Tony wasn't the only one that Patrick helped with a role-playing fantasy."

"What?" he croaked out.

"Maybe years ago, in your youth, Patrick told you about the agency and what they were prepared to do for Crawley men," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Maybe after you built your sports gambling empire and became wealthy, you found yourself a brunette with pale skin and nice tits and told her she would be your Mary for the night?"

"What? No!" he almost shouted. "Mary, I would never do that!"

"I know you wouldn't, darling," she laughed, caressing his cheek. "You are rather cute when you're nervous, though."

"Don't joke about that sort of thing," he frowned, taking hold of her other hand. "Mary, I would never betray you. Never. Even when we weren't together, I still didn't do anything to ruin my dream about you, about us."

"Of course you didn't," she smiled, bringing his hand up and kissing his fingers. "It's not who you are."

"That's…right," he said slowly.

"You're surprised by my faith in you," she shook her head, still smiling at him. "Darling, it may have taken me years to understand your feelings, but rest assured I am fully aware of them now."

He swallowed as she brushed her hand across his shoulder and smiled at him knowingly.

"No one looks at me the way you do, even when we argue," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "There are many things in my life that I worry about, but your devotion isn't one of them."

He grinned at her words. "That's rather sentimental, don't you think?"

"Quite," she smiled. "And I find, to my shock, that I don't give a shit about sounding sentimental when it comes to you."

He laughed and pulled her close, leaning back against the bedpost as he held her in his arms and kissed her soundly.

"Mmm, Matthew," she smiled between kisses. "Sybil is waiting for us."

"All right," he whinged, letting her step away, but holding on to one hand.

"Come on," she smiled, leading him towards the door. "I'm starving. Let's get to lunch."

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

Alex came into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Anna slicing a generous portion of lasagne and carefully placing it on a plate.

"Everything all right?" she asked, looking up at him.

"It seems so, yes," he nodded. "Lady Grantham spoke to Isobel and convinced her to come to Downton for a visit. Her flight lands tomorrow."

"How did she manage that?" she asked. "Mrs. Crawley likes her independence, from what I've been told."

"She does," he nodded. "Lady Grantham said she thought she was coming down with something, which always gets Isobel agitated. Isobel doesn't trust any of Lady Grantham's doctors so she ended up insisting that she come back to check on her herself."

"They're quite the pair," she smiled.

"They are," he laughed. "They disagree on most things and spend more time arguing than anything else. We should all be lucky to have friends like that."

Anna smiled and left the two plates of pasta on the counter. She went over to the kitchen island and finished tossing and dressing the salad.

"Did you talk to Mr. Crawley?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm still trying to figure out why Carlisle would have his people track down Isobel and put her under surveillance. I'm afraid every plausible scenario that I come up with isn't a particularly good one."

"You think that Sir Richard wants to keep tabs on her," she said, looking over at him. "To use against Mr. Crawley."

"If necessary," he nodded. "It's not technically a direct attack on Lord Grantham, since Matthew is essentially just an employee of the company. If Carlisle wanted leverage to use against him, knowing the precise whereabouts of his mother can be quite powerful."

"But that doesn't explain why he would hire the Albanians to follow Lady Sybil and Lady Edith and you and me," she noted. "If it was actually Sir Richard that did that."

"That's true," he agreed. "But that could all be just intelligence gathering. We just happened to discover it."

"Mr. Crawley won't be pleased when you tell him that Sir Richard had his mother followed," she shook her head.

"No, he'll be furious," he sighed. "Which is why at least if Isobel is safely in Yorkshire, it may convince him to not do anything rash while we keep up our investigation."

"Then you had better sift through all of Patrick's data again and find something we can use," she said.

"I had better?" he smiled, coming over to stand behind her and taking hold of her hips. "I seem to recall that we were assigned to that task together."

"But you're the sophisticated gunman, and I'm just a meek assistant," she smirked.

"Oh you are, are you?" he said incredulously, turning her head towards him and kissing her.

"Mmm, dinner, babes," she smiled.

"All right," he grumbled exaggeratedly. "Go and get the lasagne. I'll get the salad."

She grinned, then separated from him and grabbed the two plates of food off the counter.

Alex took up the salad bowl and grabbed a vial of extra virgin olive oil sitting on the kitchen island.

"Oh, we don't need that," she said quickly. "I've already dressed the salad."

"Ah," he said. "I'll just throw it back in the fridge then."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Erm…just leave it out. It's better if it's room temperature or warmer."

"All right," he said. He looked closely at the small bottle. "I don't think I've ever seen this brand before. Did you get it?"

"Yeah," she swallowed shakily. "I picked it up earlier today."

He turned to look at her, frowning at her change of tone. He was further perplexed by the blush colouring her cheeks.

"Anna?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, biting her bottom lip for a moment. "It's just that the oil, erm, isn't for the salad, is all."

"What is it for then?" he asked.

She walked past him with the lasagne, steeling her nerves and looking over at him bravely.

"It's for…later," she declared, catching his gaze, then continuing through to the dining room.

He frowned, looking back at the vial of oil, then his eyes bulged as he caught on to her meaning.

"Right then," he swallowed, feeling suddenly warm. He quickly followed after her with the salad.


	20. Chapter 20

**Previously:**

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, April 2015**

"Mr. Crawley won't be pleased when you tell him that Sir Richard had his mother followed," she shook her head.

"No, he'll be furious," he sighed. "Which is why at least if Isobel is safely in Yorkshire, it may convince him to not do anything rash while we keep up our investigation."

"Then you had better sift through all of Patrick's data again and find something we can use," she said.

"I had better?" he smiled, coming over to stand behind her and taking hold of her hips. "I seem to recall that we were assigned to that task together."

"But you're the sophisticated gunman, and I'm just a meek assistant," she smirked.

"Oh you are, are you?" he said incredulously, turning her head towards him and kissing her.

"Mmm, dinner, babes," she smiled.

"All right," he grumbled exaggeratedly. "Go and get the lasagne. I'll get the salad."

She grinned, then separated from him and grabbed the two plates of food off the counter.

Alex took up the salad bowl and grabbed a vial of extra virgin olive oil sitting on the kitchen island.

"Oh, we don't need that," she said quickly. "I've already dressed the salad."

"Ah," he said. "I'll just throw it back in the fridge then."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Erm…just leave it out. It's better if it's room temperature or warmer."

"All right," he said. He looked closely at the small bottle. "I don't think I've ever seen this brand before. Did you get it?"

"Yeah," she swallowed shakily. "I picked it up earlier today."

He turned to look at her, frowning at her change of tone. He was further perplexed by the blush colouring her cheeks.

"Anna?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, biting her bottom lip for a moment. "It's just that the oil, erm, isn't for the salad, is all."

"What is it for then?" he asked.

She walked past him with the lasagne, steeling her nerves and looking over at him bravely.

"It's for…later," she declared, catching his gaze, then continuing through to the dining room.

He frowned, looking back at the vial of oil, then his eyes bulged as he caught on to her meaning.

"Right then," he swallowed, feeling suddenly warm. He quickly followed after her with the salad.

 **Chapter 20:**

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames Hall, Millbank, London, England, April 2015**

"Well?" the agent asked, sitting down in his chair and sipping his coffee. "How goes it?"

"Fucking terrible," the other agent sighed, scrolling down his computer screen. "Each year's tax filings are hundreds of pages long. How am I supposed to find anything suspicious in all of this?"

"I have no idea," the first agent shook his head. "They're audited statements, anyway. I doubt any legitimate accounting firm would risk its reputation on assisting a company to evade paying taxes. What is Blake hoping to accomplish?"

"He says he has inside information that there's something going on," the second agent mumbled. "He wants us to find something to get us in there to look at their books. As for the fact the statements are audited, that means nothing. Anyone can buy the appearance of legitimacy for the right price."

"Why can't he just go in? HMRC can look at whatever they want, can't they?" the first agent frowned.

"You don't just walk into a company like that with a piece of paper and expect to get instant cooperation," the second agent answered. "They'd stall it through the Courts the moment we gave them notice of a normal review. Blake wants something firm so we can get the authorizations we need for a special inspection. That way, we hit them from the off and get in deep before they can react."

"If they are doing what Blake says they are, then looking at the books won't help," the first agent said, turning to his own computer. "They probably been cooking 'em for generations."

"I'm with you there," the second agent grumbled. "But Blake seems to think he knows what he's looking for. He just needs us to get in and it'll all come crashing down, he says."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

"We could have hosted, hey," Anna said as the elevator rose swiftly up to the 38th floor. "Alex has a huge television."

"Don't be silly," Mary scoffed, playing around on her phone. "If all of us are taking the weekend off from work, I won't force you to host us. Besides, Matthew likes being here to watch the matches. We spent a Saturday at mine once and it was a disaster. I thought he was going to wear down the rug he was pacing back and forth so much. Not to mention he almost gave Mrs. Bute a heart attack when United missed a penalty."

Anna smiled as the elevator doors opened and Mary led the way to Matthew's suite.

"I just wish he had a proper kitchen," Mary sighed as she swiped her keycard across the door scanner. "Room service here is wonderful, but we've already gone through the entire menu."

Anna followed into the hotel suite. When they came into the spacious living room, Alex came over and kissed her lightly.

"Your drinks, sir," Anna smiled at him.

"Thank you," Alex replied. "What's the damage?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," Anna teased, leaving him with the bag of drinks and heading over to the sofa.

"Coke for the boss," Alex announced, taking a large bottle out of the bag and handing it to Matthew.

"Thanks," Matthew mumbled, taking the bottle, then looking back at his phone.

"Almost started?" Anna asked, sitting down on the sofa.

"Another ten minutes," Alex nodded, sitting down in a chair beside her and looking at his laptop computer on the coffee table.

"Ah, so you're still working, then?" Anna smiled.

"We close the bets just before kickoff," Alex nodded. "We track betting throughout the match though, because people can bet on the second half if they want."

"What are the odds for this match?" Mary called from the bar, where she was preparing drinks and slicing a lime.

"United at 2/5, draw 18/4, West Brom 10/1 to win," Matthew replied, still not looking up.

"10/1, goodness," Mary shook her head, carrying a silver drinks tray over to the sofa. "That's rather attractive."

"It is, but not many people are jumping on it," Alex said. "United's lost their last two. It's been 14 years since they lost three in a row, so no one thinks they'll lose today, especially since they're playing at Old Trafford."

"So the majority of the bets you're taking is on United?" Anna asked, smiling in thanks as Mary handed her a drink.

"United is a public team," Matthew said. "No matter what their record, or how shit they've been playing, they'll always have the vast majority of the betting action. Even though this season's been barely better than last year's disaster, they're still almost unbeatable at home."

"Almost, but not quite," Mary smirked, coming over and handing him a glass with several lime wedges. "They've lost a fair bit at home this season, haven't they?"

"No need to remind me," Matthew frowned, taking the glass from her and pouring himself a Coke.

Mary took her own drink over to the sofa and sat down next to Anna. She took a quick peek at her mobile, then put it away and took a sip of her vodka and tonic.

"Did you want me to move?" Anna asked quietly.

"No. Thank you, but it isn't necessary," Mary said as on the large television, the ball was put into play and the match began. "The sofa is ours. Matthew barely sits down during these things."

Matthew looked over at her at the mention of his name. He glanced back at his mobile, then walked over and sat down next to Mary.

"What's this?" Mary arched her eyebrow, shifting to give him room, then leaning closer to him. "Matthew Crawley actually putting his phone down?"

"We're supposed to be watching the match together, aren't we?" he smiled, resting his hand on her thigh.

"Goodness, aren't you afraid your empire will burn to the ground if you take your hand off the wheel?" Mary teased.

"Hardly," he scoffed. "The objective of my entire operation is that I don't need to always be involved for it to be successful."

Anna and Alex exchanged a smile.

The doorbell to the suite rang and Alex went to answer it, opening the door to allow the bellman to wheel a table covered in platters of food into the suite.

"Ah, perfect timing," Mary smiled, getting up from the sofa with Anna to go over and arrange the meal. After dismissing the bellman, she set out the salads, sandwiches and snacks and prepared a plate for her and another for Matthew.

"I got it, darling, thanks," Matthew smiled, coming up behind her and taking his plate. He kissed the top of her head as he took a bundle of cutlery wrapped in a linen napkin.

"Not working on a weekend, and now tearing yourself away from the match to serve yourself," Mary teased. "What's gotten into you?"

"Haha," Matthew said sarcastically. "If I recall correctly, I'm not the one who grew up with servants at my beck and call."

"No," Mary retorted. "You just took advantage of mine whenever you came to visit."

They all took their seats, food and drink close at hand and watched the first half play out.

Mary could tell that Matthew was not enjoying himself as the game wore on. He stopped eating, drank the entire bottle of Coke by halftime, and, not wanting to yell and scream at the television, resorted to dissatisfied grunts and frowns whenever Manchester United made a mistake. When they were younger, she always found it amusing how much Matthew and Patrick and other boys obsessed over their favourite football teams. Now, though, she was wise enough to know that goading him would only make him more annoyed.

"That was rather tense," Anna remarked as they reached halftime.

"Loads of possession, but no finish," Alex said, getting up from his chair and taking her empty glass.

Matthew sighed and got up from the sofa, going over to the table of food to grab another plate of salad.

"There's still an entire half to go," Mary gently reminded him, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Plenty of time for them to get a result."

"Not the way they're going," Matthew grumbled, leaning back against her slightly. "They just don't have a clue in the box. It's either Rooney blasting one over from 30 yards out or Van Persie trying to dribble through three defenders. You know, when Ronaldo was still on the team…"

"Yes, yes," Mary rolled her eyes. "He's the only truly world class player you've seen play for United. You've mentioned that."

Matthew smiled and shook his head. He turned around to face her and slid his hands across her hips.

"Why, Lady Mary," Matthew grinned. "Have you been paying attention to my opinions on football? I'll make you into a United supporter yet."

"Not likely," she smirked, tilting her head as he kissed her quickly. "They're rubbish."

They kissed lightly once more.

"Now, are you going to mope for the rest of the day?" Mary asked. "Shall I call Mama and tell her we won't be going to Downton tomorrow because you need time to quit sulking?"

"Well, that will all depend on what happens in the second half," Matthew smiled.

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Of course we're going to Downton," Matthew nodded. "Everyone's expecting us. I'm shocked we were even allowed to stay in London today."

"I'm shocked that you wanted to stay behind," Mary said. "I would have thought you'd be eager to see your mother."

"I spoke to her yesterday," Matthew shrugged. "She and Violet have been virtually inseparable since she arrived. I doubt we'll see much of either of them beyond tomorrow's dinner."

"Don't count on it," Mary shook her head. "Isobel will sit you down at some point and tell you all the reasons why you shouldn't be with me."

"Stop it," Matthew said, hugging her a bit closer. "Mother adores you. She's known about us for months and she's had no objection."

"Thank you for lying, but I'm sure she must have warned you at least once," Mary huffed. "When she pictures the woman she wants her beloved only son to be with, it isn't me."

"We're not going to argue about this," Matthew said, kissing her forehead. "We'll drive up to Yorkshire tomorrow and then you'll see."

Mary sighed and allowed him to lead her back over to the sofa as the second half got underway.

Whatever progress Mary made in lightening Matthew's mood disappeared quickly as West Brom scored a shock goal from a deflected free kick. Fighting the urge to leap to his feet and curse, Matthew instead dug his fingers into the armrest of the sofa in a claw-like grip.

"Oh my," Anna blinked, looking over at Alex. "That was unexpected. Whoever took those odds on West Brom must be ecstatic at the moment."

"There's still another half hour to play," Alex said tightly.

"But if this score holds, you're going to do quite well on the day, aren't you?" Mary asked.

"Over 95% of the bets we've taken on this game were on United, so yes, a draw or a West Brom win will be quite profitable for us," Alex nodded.

"Profit isn't all that matters, you know," Matthew said, his eyes locked on the television.

Mary smiled and snuggled against him, patting his knee.

"That's a penalty! Yes! Finally!" Matthew shouted, pointing at the television screen as the referee awarded a penalty shot to Manchester United. Matthew frowned as he watched the United player step forward to take the shot.

"Oh, come on!" Matthew groaned, rolling his eyes as the West Brom goalkeeper turned the penalty shot away to keep United behind.

"Wow," Anna said in surprise. "That's not something you see very often."

"No, no, it's not," Alex said, stealing a glance at Matthew, who was sitting forward now, rubbing his hands together between his knees.

As the minutes ticked away, all four of them were staring at the television, watching closely to see if United could score the tying goal. Matthew grit his teeth and gasped with each missed opportunity or saved shot. Despite a rash of chances late in the game, United could not break through, and the referee blew his whistle to end the match with West Brom pulling out the 1-0 victory.

"Fuck," Matthew muttered, slouching back on the couch and taking out his mobile.

"Well, that was…something," Mary said, getting up and going over to the bar to refresh her drink.

"How much did you end up making off that match?" Anna asked, getting up from the sofa and walking behind Alex, leaning over him to massage his shoulders.

"A lot," Alex nodded, reaching up and rubbing her hand. "Like I said, very few people were picking West Brom, and because the match was tied at halftime, pretty much all the second half bets we took were on United as well."

"Then that will be your consolation prize," Mary smiled, bringing her drink back to the sofa and sitting down next to Matthew.

"It'll have to be," Matthew grumbled. "They aren't going to win anything this season. They'll be lucky to hang on for a Champions League spot the way they're going."

"What happens next?" Anna asked, watching Alex's computer screen.

"Our system validates the result and the final score against official reports from the Premier League," Alex explained. "Once we have a confirmed result, all the payouts are made automatically to our customers' online accounts. That way, they have to take the extra step to have the money transferred to their banks."

"Which gives you the opportunity to entice them to bet their winnings on another match," Anna smiled. "Just like how we make players walk past the tables and slot machines to get to the cashiers at our casinos."

"Exactly," Alex chuckled. "We send out email notifications of the result and any payout, and we always include links to future matches that the system predicts they'll be interested in. The majority of our customers keep the funds in their accounts throughout the year, rather than withdraw them from us."

"So what was the biggest payout from that match?" Anna asked.

"I'll tell you in a second," Alex said, scrolling through his applications. "Ah, looks like someone put down 10,000 quid on West Brom."

"So they made 100,000 pounds just like that?" Anna asked.

"It was a lucky pick, probably done for a laugh," Matthew said, looking at his mobile.

"Do you think so?" Mary asked.

"Could have been a West Brom fan, I suppose," Matthew said. "It's a big bet, though. Quite brave, given all the trends and data favoured a comfortable United win."

"Well, in this case, it seems it was quite profitable to be contrarian," Mary noted.

"Yes, indeed," Alex asked, moving his fingers on the touchpad of his computer and clicking on the bet in question. "The payout of the day goes to…"

"MJC0708," Matthew said, staring at his mobile.

Alex frowned at his screen.

Anna covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing out loud.

Matthew blinked, then slowly turned to look at Mary.

"Mary Josephine Crawley, July 8?" Matthew asked incredulously.

Mary smirked, then leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"I'll take that in a bank draft," she said slyly. "And I want you to deliver it to me personally tonight, darling."

Matthew met her eyes and chuckled ruefully. "As you wish, my Lady," he said softly.

"Anna? When was our spa appointment?" Mary asked, smiling at Matthew.

"In about 20 minutes," Anna said.

"Well, let's get going then," Mary said lightly. She leaned over and kissed Matthew on the cheek before rising and briskly walking out with Anna, the door closing firmly behind them.

"So…" Alex said after the ladies were gone. "About that payout."

"Have a bank draft delivered here right away," Matthew smiled, getting up from the sofa and going over to the bar.

 **Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"Matthew says they've just left," Isobel said, glancing down at her phone. She closed Matthew's text message and put her phone down on the table.

"So they'll be arriving by late afternoon," Violet nodded, arranging the cards in her hand.

"Probably earlier than that, the way that Matthew drives," Isobel shook her head, reaching over and taking a card from the deck.

"All the better," Violet said. "They'll need to shower and change from the trip up, and if they arrive right when we're in the midst of getting ready for dinner, it could throw the entire evening off."

"Well, you wouldn't want that," Isobel remarked.

"Not if I can help it, no," Violet huffed.

Isobel examined the cards in her hand, then glanced at the two piles on the table. She picked up a card from one pile, then discarded another into the other pile.

"You know, when Robert summoned Matthew to London, he told me he would only be there for about ten months to stabilize Patrick's division," Isobel stated. "Here we are now eight months in and he seems to have every intention of staying on."

"And you don't approve?" Violet asked, picking up another card and discarding one from her hand.

"Joining the company was not what I wanted for him," Isobel nodded. "He was doing very well for himself by just being affiliated with the family. Now he's practically a part of it."

"Are you sure your concern is regarding his career choice, or is it something, or someone else?" Violet asked, looking up from her cards and staring at Isobel intently.

"Please," Isobel scoffed. "You know that I have great affection for Mary."

"Yes, you do," Violet agreed. "You admire her for her career, and her ambition. However, whether or not she is a worthy partner for Matthew is an entirely different question, isn't it?"

"I think I'm perfectly entitled to ask that question of anyone with intentions towards him," Isobel sniffed. "And I haven't made any determination where Mary is concerned. I'm not prejudging her."

"But you're skeptical," Violet said plainly, taking another card. "You don't believe that Mary could feel for Matthew what he's always felt for her."

"You must admit that it is hard to believe," Isobel shook her head. "Mary is very careful with her feelings. Matthew is not. And, he has no reservation about putting his personal relationships, the ones he values the most, before business."

"And you don't think that Mary is capable of doing the same," Violet declared.

"She's been raised from birth to be the next Countess of Grantham, to take over from Robert when the time comes," Isobel said. "It's difficult to imagine she would choose anyone over that."

"Difficult, but not impossible," Violet replied. "Besides, we both know that Matthew would never force her to make that choice."

"It just sounds too good to be true," Isobel frowned, rearranging her cards. "When they were children, he would smile for days after hearing but one kind word from her."

"And she rarely gave him one," Violet said. "Which is what worries you."

"I'm his mother," Isobel said. "I'm allowed to worry."

"Yes, you are," Violet nodded. "Wait until they arrive. When you see how they are with each other, how they behave during dinner, you'll see. Your concerns will be put to rest, I'm quite confident."

"Of course you would say that," Isobel said. "Mary's your granddaughter. You're going to be on her side."

"Yes," Violet admitted. "But Matthew is very dear to me, as well. Just because I want both of them to be happy does not mean I would necessarily endorse them being together. Now that I've seen them together myself, though, I am convinced."

"Convinced that they're happy together?" Isobel asked.

"Convinced that they are each one half of the other," Violet said.

Isobel looked at her for a long moment, then pursed her lips and returned to her cards.

"Oh, don't look so aghast," Violet shook her head. "I'm not a romantic, but even I concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose of pumping blood."

"And you think that you know Mary's heart?" Isobel questioned.

"My dear, I would not presume to know anyone else's heart, particularly Mary's, but I like to think that I know what is good for her, and I dare say, from what I have seen, that she is gradually realizing what is good for her as well," Violet said.

"I suppose I have no choice but to trust in your opinion," Isobel said.

"It has served both of us well so far," Violet nodded.

"I just hope, for both of their sakes, that you aren't wrong," Isobel sighed.

"If I am, you must tell me" Violet said. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the sensation."

Isobel laughed wryly and looked back at her cards.

"I believe that I would be much more at ease if the two of them could step away from the company," Isobel stated. "Working so closely together in such an environment will put a strain on them."

"Possibly," Violet nodded. "But it's far too late to remove them from the company. They essentially run our London operations. When Robert brought Matthew in, it was with the hope that he would stay for far longer than ten months."

"Yes, I realize that now," Isobel said. "However, I preferred it when Matthew was working for himself, not having to answer to anyone."

"We all must answer to someone," Violet said firmly.

Isobel nodded resignedly. She looked over her cards, then smiled as she placed them face up on the table.

"I believe that's gin," Isobel announced.

"Ah," Violet smiled, glancing down at the cards. "So it is. Let's go again."

 **A1(M) Motorway, South of Sheffield, England, May 2015**

Matthew flicked the paddle behind the steering wheel with his finger and pressed his foot down on the accelerator pedal. The engine growled as the car gained speed. Matthew turned the steering wheel slightly as they rounded a bend, then accelerated along the straightaway that followed.

"There's no rush, you know," Mary smiled, looking over at him from the passenger seat. "We'll be there in plenty of time."

"I know," he nodded. "I just like to take advantage of the extra room on the motorway sections to pass these stragglers before it thins out to a country road again."

"Are you sure you aren't trying to show off?" she said, her dark sunglasses not covering the arch of her eyebrows. "You think I'll swoon over your expensive car and your fearless driving skills?"

"No, not at all," he smirked.

"Are you sure?" she teased. "No fantasy of me going down on you while you zoom along at 100 miles per hour?"

"No," he said pointedly, shifting in his seat and blushing slightly. "That wouldn't be safe. I'd pull over to the shoulder first."

"How boring of you," she laughed.

"Well, unlike when we were on the company jet, I do need to at least pay some attention to driving the car and trying to keep us alive," he retorted.

"Ah yes, the company jet," she smiled, leaning back in her seat. "You should have seen the look on your face."

"I can well imagine," he shook his head in disbelief. "If someone had told me that I'd be joining the Mile High Club with Lady Mary Crawley, I'd have thought they'd gone mad."

"Well, technically, we didn't," she chuckled. "The Mile High Club requires having sex, I believe."

"You're aware of the precise requirements, are you?" he asked, half kidding, half nervous.

"Not firsthand, no," she said pointedly, lifting her sunglasses into her hair and glaring at him. "Though I would be prepared to make another attempt with you, just to be sure."

"Well," he swallowed, shifting in his seat again. "Perhaps we should plan a trip soon."

"Naughty," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "How do I know you aren't bragging about what we get up to? You could be spreading stories about us to Alex and Larry and Henry and who knows who else."

"You know that I haven't," he said smugly, smiling as he watched the road. "You know that I wouldn't."

Mary blushed and smiled, looking down at her hands.

"Speaking of Henry," he said, changing the subject. "What did you think of the emails he sent over?"

"I didn't see anything," she said. "Though I agree with you that Patrick had some rather strange ideas for his ventures. There's nothing there that jumps out at me as being controversial, though."

"No, there wasn't," he replied. "Do you wonder why Patrick didn't bother going to Robert about any of his plans? Was it as simple as he didn't want to rely on the family?"

"He wanted to build something of his own," she said easily. "It's understandable. Papa encourages us to look at things differently, to have big ideas. He believes that nurturing such ambition will make us all want to develop our own plans within the company, and the family will profit from all of our work in the end. But it obviously had a different effect on Patrick. He couldn't wait to get out, if you believe what Miss Parks told Anna."

"And do you?" he asked.

"That his ambition was to ultimately leave us?" she sighed, turning her head and looking out at the English countryside zooming past. "Yes, I could see that."

Matthew looked over at her curiously, then returned his eyes to the road.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked, looking over at him.

"Why do I want to know what?" he replied, still staring straight ahead.

"About Patrick's death," she said. "Papa didn't ask you to investigate, so why are you? What does it matter?"

"Why are you investigating it?" he countered.

"You first," she smiled.

Matthew sighed before answering. "Patrick and I…had our moments…but we were friends, ultimately. I guess part of me needed to know if it was just a stupid drug overdose or if something else was at play. As much as we disagreed, now that I know someone had him killed, I need to find out who and why. I think I owe him that much."

"Do you think that, if the roles were reversed, Patrick would be investigating what happened to you?" she asked.

Matthew paused. He glanced over at her, then back up to the road.

"It doesn't matter," he said finally. "I want to know."

Mary nodded and looked down at her lap.

"Well?" he asked. "What about you?"

"When I heard about what happened to him, I was in shock, like everyone else," she said. "Papa and Edith probably took it the hardest. If I'm honest, I didn't truly care, in the beginning. But weeks after the funeral, I found myself thinking about it quite often. I wasn't sad, not really. But I couldn't shake this nagging sense that we didn't have the entire story, and I needed to find out what was missing."

"Because you needed that to let go of him?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head. "I won't insult his memory by pretending now that I cared deeply for him. He was my cousin, and we grew up together, but we weren't close. After sixth form, we went our separate ways and even though we ended up working together, we never saw each other outside the office unless it was at a family dinner or something. We were more co-workers than family in the end."

"So what was it, then?" he asked.

"I suppose I need to know what led him there," she said after a long silence. "In the beginning, when we thought it was a drug overdose, I needed to know if he was just foolish or if he had some demons that were stronger than we thought. After Anna learned that he was murdered, I have more questions that I need answered. Ultimately, Patrick and I weren't that much different. We were raised the same way, we basically had the same job within the company, our ambitions were different, but…"

"You need to know if Patrick got himself killed because of something he did, or if it was who he was that ended up killing him," he offered.

Mary looked out the window again and nodded her head.

"Mary, look at me," he said.

She turned and saw his blue eyes watching her.

"You're not Patrick," he nodded, looking back up the road, then back at her. "Whatever killed him, it doesn't mean you're going to follow the same path."

Mary nodded as Matthew went back to driving. After several minutes, she frowned and turned to him again.

"What if we're wrong?" she asked.

"About what?" he frowned.

"What you said just now – that Patrick was killed because of who he was. What if Patrick was killed for an entirely different reason," she suggested. "What if his death had nothing to do with him at all?"

"I'm not following," he shook his head. "Green said he was ordered to have Patrick killed."

"Yes, he did, but we've always assumed that Patrick was killed because of something he did. What if he was killed just because of who he was?" she asked.

"But that's ridiculous," he shook his head. "If someone killed Patrick to send a message to your family, then why has Robert been so indifferent to the investigation? Besides, it isn't as if the family has enemies. You aren't involved in any blood feuds or anything like that."

"No, we're not," she admitted. "But we've spent so much time searching for a motive for Patrick's death, we haven't actually thought that maybe he was killed just because he was a Crawley."

"But what purpose does that serve?" he asked. "It's not as though getting rid of Patrick was going to weaken the company at all. Robert liked Patrick, obviously, but you yourself said Patrick wasn't necessarily being groomed to take over for him."

"Just more questions without answers," she shook her head in frustration.

"Well, you know who might have some answers for this new theory of yours," he said.

"Yes," she said bitterly, lowering her sunglasses over her eyes. "Though I may not like the answers that I get."

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"The Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley," Carson announced.

Everyone turned around and smiled as Violet and Isobel came into the parlour. They all moved over into the centre of the room, drinks in hand, and met the two women halfway.

"Hello, Granny," Edith smiled, kissing Violet on the cheek. "We were beginning to wonder when you'd show."

"We were delayed a bit by traffic," Violet laughed. "Traffic in the Village! Can you imagine! Now, come on. Sybil, I want to hear all about your studies."

Sybil shared a glance with Edith and went to go sit down on the sofa with Violet.

"Mother," Matthew grinned, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. "You're looking well."

"Thank you," Isobel nodded, looking over her son quickly before turning to Mary and holding out her hand.

"Mary," Isobel grinned.

"Isobel," Mary nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "So good to have you back in England."

"I admit the heat of Singapore was getting to me," Isobel nodded. "But the hospital is really extraordinary, and the people are so friendly. I'll have to go back once your grandmother is back to full strength."

"Well, don't leave us so soon," Mary said, smiling up at Matthew. "I think Granny could use the company, and when was the last time you spent a Season in London?"

"Oh, it's been ages!" Isobel nodded, looking at Matthew. "At least…what?"

"Seven years," Matthew nodded.

"Seven years," Isobel said tightly, forcing a smile.

"Well, that settles it," Mary recovered. "You must come with us to Wimbledon in June. That at least requires that you stay here for another two months."

"Thank you, Mary," Isobel said.

"Of course," Mary nodded. "We're practically family, aren't we?"

"Yes," Isobel answered. "Yes, we are."

"Well, let's go on in," Cora called. "Dinner is served."

* * *

With Matthew and the girls up from London, it afforded Robert and Cora the opportunity to have a proper formal dinner, which meant everyone dressed up, the meal was served on the family's finest china and silver, and they followed the age old tradition of Cora escorting the women through to the sitting room, leaving Robert and Matthew behind to have port and cigars. Matthew didn't smoke, but he knew how the Earl liked to indulge in these old customs, and having gone through them dozens of times already, he sipped his port and counted the minutes until he was allowed to go in to see Mary.

"I had some thoughts on the expansion plan following the last reports," Robert said, puffing on his cigar.

"Yes, Mary mentioned you might," Matthew said, sipping his port.

"It concerns your plan to put a sports book and viewing lounge in the casino," Robert said. "I'm not quite sure that it's a good idea."

"You approved it originally," Matthew noted.

"I did," Robert said tightly. "And certainly we can still proceed to develop the space itself. I'm just not convinced that we want to fill it with counters and televisions and lounge chairs and what not. It runs against the image we want for the property, don't you think?"

"How so?" Matthew asked.

"Well, I don't think we want a line of factory workers coming through the atrium looking to put down a few quid on Arsenal," Robert scoffed. "To say nothing for the fact you want to carry North American matches, which will keep the punters coming in at all hours."

"You're not against taking a cut of the revenues from my websites, and the clientele is probably similar," Matthew said.

"Yes, but that's online, Matthew," Robert shook his head.

"So their money is good enough for you, so long as they remain out of sight?" Matthew asked.

Robert frowned. "Are you saying that you think we should welcome them in with open arms?"

"We're not a members only establishment," Matthew said. "Anyone can come into Crockfords, regardless of whether they want to bet on sports or not."

"Yes, but there's a marked difference between someone being able to come in, and someone being lured in by a neon sign blinking 'Sports Book' on and off all through the night," Robert said.

"We aren't putting in any neon signs, Robert," Matthew corrected him.

"You understand my meaning, Matthew," Robert scolded him.

"No, I'm quite sure that I don't," Matthew retorted. "If you think that operating a sports book at Crockfords is going to result in a line of homeless people tracking mud across the marble floors, you're being paranoid."

"Paranoid?" Robert spat.

"And a bit delusional," Matthew added. "Of all the things to be concerned about, Robert, this isn't one of them. High-end casinos across the world have sports gambling in them. Wynn and Encore Las Vegas, Bellagio, MGM Grand…"

"You think that's the standard that we ought to measure ourselves against?" Robert asked in alarm.

Matthew stared at the Earl in confusion. "You don't?" he asked. "These are billion dollar enterprises, Robert."

"Matthew, money is not the sole focus of our business!" Robert sneered, butting out his cigar and discarding it into the ashtray. "Crockfords and all of our properties are the continuation of a time when there were proper London clubs, where Society's finest could go to escape from the rest of the world and have every luxury they desired, a private enclave, a haven where deals were brokered and alliances were formed and decisions affecting the entire Empire were made. We don't operate our business to allow commoners to bet on the latest basketball game or what have you!"

"Those clubs that you refer to were for men only," Matthew said. "Would you like to ban women from the casinos now as well?"

"Of course not," Robert said dismissively.

"Exactly," Matthew nodded. "Because not only is it illegal to do so, but it makes no sense. The nation and the company have evolved over the hundred years since the time that refer to, Robert. Our business model has changed. The demographics of who our customers are, and what they gamble their money on, has changed. If you want to ignore, or exclude a significant segment of our market, you do so at our peril, I assure you."

Robert pursed his lips and looked away, shaking his head. Finally, he rose from his chair and waved towards the door.

"Come on, we should let the staff get in here," he growled, not waiting for Matthew before he went through to the sitting room.

Matthew watched him go, then finished the rest of his port. He followed after the Earl, still perplexed as to the tone and subject of their conversation.

* * *

"Before Papa and Matthew come through, I was hoping we could have a word," Mary asked, sitting down on the settee next to Isobel.

"I should be delighted," Isobel nodded. "Please."

Mary hesitated, staring down at her glass of sherry. Finally, she raised her eyes and looked at Isobel directly.

"I want you to know…" Mary began, her voice catching slightly. "I…I love Matthew, very much. I expect you might have been surprised to hear from him that we were dating."

"I was," Isobel agreed. "Matthew mentioned that you weren't exactly welcoming to him when he arrived in London."

"No, no, I wasn't, I'm afraid," Mary cringed slightly. "And I know that your memories of Matthew and I aren't bursting with adorable moments between us."

"No, adorable would not be a word I would use," Isobel smiled.

"But things are different now," Mary said firmly. "I think that I never took the time to properly get to know him, and now I have, and we're both different from who we once were. I don't want you to worry, or be afraid for him. He makes me very happy, you see, and I hope that I do the same for him, and I would very much appreciate if you were happy for both of us."

"I am," Isobel said, patting her hand reassuringly.

Mary allowed herself a cautious smile.

"Mary," Isobel said quietly. "I've always held you in very high regard. Reginald thought very highly of you, also. You must understand, though, that Matthew is my only child. He's, in essence, the only family I have left. It's only natural that I'm going to be very…careful…with any woman he decides to bring home to meet me, as it were."

"Yes, of course," Mary nodded.

"I know that I don't have to tell you about how long Matthew has…had feelings…for you," Isobel continue carefully. "Whatever the future may hold for the both of you, I only ask that you be careful. Be careful not to break his heart, please."

Mary blinked.

"I…" Mary stammered. "I certainly have no intention to."

"The two of you seem to be deep in discussion," Matthew smiled, coming over to them.

"Just women's stuff," Mary smiled at him easily. She shared a glance with Isobel, then rose from the settee. "Go on and sit, darling. Mama needs me to make a fourth for bridge."

Matthew sat down next to his mother on the settee. They both watched as Mary walked gracefully across the room and sat down at the card table with Violet, Cora and Edith.

"Sybil," Matthew called out, waving her over. "Mother, you should hear about her dissertation. It's quite brilliant."

"I would expect nothing less," Isobel smiled, looking over at Mary for a moment more before she nodded as Sybil reached them and began chatting with Matthew.


	21. Chapter 21

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"I want you to know…" Mary began, her voice catching slightly. "I…I love Matthew, very much. I expect you might have been surprised to hear from him that we were dating."

"I was," Isobel agreed. "Matthew mentioned that you weren't exactly welcoming to him when he arrived in London."

"No, no, I wasn't, I'm afraid," Mary cringed slightly. "And I know that your memories of Matthew and I aren't bursting with adorable moments between us."

"No, adorable would not be a word I would use," Isobel smiled.

"But things are different now," Mary said firmly. "I think that I never took the time to properly get to know him, and now I have, and we're both different from who we once were. I don't want you to worry, or be afraid for him. He makes me very happy, you see, and I hope that I do the same for him, and I would very much appreciate if you were happy for both of us."

"I am," Isobel said, patting her hand reassuringly.

Mary allowed herself a cautious smile.

"Mary," Isobel said quietly. "I've always held you in very high regard. Reginald thought very highly of you, also. You must understand, though, that Matthew is my only child. He's, in essence, the only family I have left. It's only natural that I'm going to be very…careful…with any woman he decides to bring home to meet me, as it were."

"Yes, of course," Mary nodded.

"I know that I don't have to tell you about how long Matthew has…had feelings…for you," Isobel continue carefully. "Whatever the future may hold for the both of you, I only ask that you be careful. Be careful not to break his heart, please."

Mary blinked.

"I…" Mary stammered. "I certainly have no intention to."

"The two of you seem to be deep in discussion," Matthew smiled, coming over to them.

"Just women's stuff," Mary smiled at him easily. She shared a glance with Isobel, then rose from the settee. "Go on and sit, darling. Mama needs me to make a fourth for bridge."

Matthew sat down next to his mother on the settee. They both watched as Mary walked gracefully across the room and sat down at the card table with Violet, Cora and Edith.

"Sybil," Matthew called out, waving her over. "Mother, you should hear about her dissertation. It's quite brilliant."

"I would expect nothing less," Isobel smiled, looking over at Mary for a moment more before she nodded as Sybil reached them and began chatting with Matthew.

 **Chapter 21:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

Mary opened her eyes, her vision filling with a bundle of mussed blond hair atop broad shoulders and a smooth back tapering down to disappear under her plush duvet. She took a moment to admire Matthew as he slept, before temptation got the best of her and she cuddled up closer, sliding her hand underneath the linens and across his waist, kissing his shoulder and neck.

"Mmm," Matthew hummed, immediately turning over on to his back and reaching out his arm. His eyes remained closed as she darted across and rested her head on his chest, curling against him and stretching her leg across his thighs.

"You were supposed to wake me up so I could go back to my bedroom," he mumbled, smiling with his eyes closed.

"I forgot," she said lightly.

"No, you didn't," he chuckled. "You're trying to get me into trouble."

"Please," she scoffed. "If you were found in here, who do you think they would blame for it? Papa would give you a fond smirk while Mama would tear into me about my lack of discretion."

"Your Papa isn't going to be giving me any fond looks anytime soon after the debacle from last night," he replied. "Talking to him was maddening. I've never seen him so cross before."

"You've never seen him so cross at you, before," she corrected him. "From what you described, it sounded like one of our normal conversations to me."

"I still can't understand what brought it on," he said, blinking several times as he stirred to wakefulness. "He's known about those plans for months, and he chooses now to suddenly object to the sports book? It's mad."

"It's just that it's becoming more real to him now," she explained. "When it was all just plans and cost estimates, it was something far off into the future for him. Now that we've broken ground and he knows that Edith will be making significant progress through the summer, he's beginning to understand that we're finally moving into this century, and it terrifies him."

"Be serious," he frowned.

"I am!" she said. "Papa hates change. Worse than that, he hates not being in control of everything."

"Well, he better get used to it in this case, because nothing is going to change this plan. We're too far into it to go back out now, and on top of that, he doesn't control all of the money. We have no obligation to get his permission for anything," he said.

"You're rather sexy when you're self-righteous and adamant," she smiled, looking up at him as she moved up his body.

"When I'm championing your cause, you mean?" he smirked.

"Definitely," she said, kissing him slowly. She slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders, turning her head as she kissed him again, her tongue sliding playfully against his teeth.

"When's breakfast?" he asked as she pulled back. "How much time do we have?"

"Plenty, I'm sure," she said, arching her eyebrow at him.

Mary reached across to grab her phone from the nightstand.

"It's just past nine," she announced, glancing at her phone, then placing it back down. "We've probably got half an hour at most."

"Less than that," he grumbled. "I still need to go back to my room to shower and change."

"You could always shower here," she smiled, grabbing a condom from the nightstand. In their haste last night, Matthew had comically torn the box, spilling several over the nightstand as she laughed at him before he was able to corral one and dive back into bed.

"Don't tempt me," he smiled as she waved the wrapper in front of him. "What would Sybil say if she saw me running down the hall in my robe?"

"Everyone knows we're sleeping together," she rolled her eyes. "They just pretend that they don't for appearance's sake. Sybil would probably make a clever joke and laugh at you, if she didn't take out her phone and snap a photo first."

"All the same," he said, sitting up. "Half an hour isn't nearly enough time for you to get ready and you know it."

"Fine," she sighed, sitting back against the pillows and covering herself with the duvet. "Off with you, then."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her quickly on the lips before he got out of bed and went in search of his clothes.

"You know, we've never actually discussed this," she said, looking at the condom wrapper.

"Discussed what?" he asked, pulling on his boxer briefs and pyjama pants and walking over to the chair to grab his robe.

"Protection," she said lightly. "You've never asked me what I'm using."

"You use the patch. I've seen them in your toiletry bag," he said, pulling on his robe.

"Snooping around, are you?" she frowned.

"They were just sitting there," he retorted, tying the sash of his robe. "And I've seen you put them on."

"Then why do you keep using these?" she asked, holding up the wrapper.

"Why not?" he replied, walking around the bed and finding his slippers. "It shouldn't be just your responsibility to ensure that we're safe."

"But doesn't it take away from your…enjoyment?" she asked, blushing as she bit her lower lip.

He leaned over the bed and took the wrapper from her, kissing her quickly before staring into her eyes.

"I enjoy it very much," he nodded before standing up straight and taking the rest of the condoms and his mobile from the nightstand.

"Well, my parents will be pleased that we're being so responsible," she remarked.

"Why should they expect anything less?" he asked, sitting down on the bed.

"They wouldn't, not from you anyway," she scoffed. "As for me, they've probably planned down to the precise month and year that they want me to have my first child."

"What does it matter?" he frowned. "It will happen when it happens."

"My family doesn't allow anything to just 'happen', Matthew," she shook her head. "Everything must be carefully announced, organized and executed."

"Announced?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"All right, perhaps not everything is announced," she rolled her eyes. "The point is that there are expectations placed upon all of us regarding major milestones in our lives. I don't necessarily agree with it all, but a great deal of planning is put into ensuring that Edith, Sybil and I all follow a particular path."

"Such as you falling in love with me?" he smiled.

"Well, yes, that was completely unplanned," she smiled back. "But I am a bit of a rebel at heart."

She leaned over and kissed him again before he got up from the bed and headed for the door.

"I'll come and get you in half an hour so we can go down to breakfast," he said over his shoulder, before leaving her bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Mary turned and looked out the window, the bright sun shining over the vast fields of Downton Abbey.

 **Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"God, I thought they'd never let me leave," Sybil moaned, glancing in the store windows as they walked. "I owe Mary massively for distracting Papa so we could escape."

"It wasn't that bad," Matthew smiled. "I think it's a perfectly legitimate question for them to ask you. You'll be done your Masters within another year at most. They want to know what your plans are."

"They want to know when I'll be going into the family business," she frowned. "And you and I both know that will never happen."

"They probably know it too," he nodded. "They're just being stubborn."

"I'll stay in school and do a PhD and a post-doctorate if I have to," she said firmly.

"No, you won't," he smiled. "You would go mad. You want to do something practical, not just spend your days in research and writing for the rest of your life."

"You're right," she grumbled. "But at least if I'm in school, it will keep them off my arse about the future."

"You could always get married," he smirked. "Marry some toff and get pregnant and you'll never have to work again."

"Fuck off, Matthew," she said, elbowing him. "I'd sooner join a convent than spend my life popping babies for some rich snob who thinks that's all I'm good for."

"Actually, I bet your parents would be perfectly fine with you becoming a nun," he smiled.

Sybil rolled her eyes.

"There is another option," Matthew stated.

"And what's that? Move to another country? I've thought about that. They'd still hound me," she scoffed.

"Not entirely," he shook his head. "You could go away, yes, and build something for yourself. As long as you aren't relying on the family for money, there's very little that your parents can do to stop you."

"And how am I going to pay for this grand adventure?" she asked. "Masters students in Gender Studies don't exactly have lucrative careers, Matthew, as hard as that is to believe, especially considering that I have almost no interest in teaching."

"I'll pay for it," he said easily.

"You?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, me," he smiled. "I'll give you the Rose deal."

Sybil laughed. "I love you. Thank you, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" he laughed. "It's just money."

"Yes, I know that you've got plenty of it," she rolled her eyes. "But I wouldn't feel comfortable taking your money. I'd never be able to pay you back."

"So?" he shrugged. "A few thousand quid isn't…"

"Yes, yes, there's no need to brag," she smiled ruefully at him. "Matthew, trust me, it would end up coming between us. I won't accept your charity. It's bad enough that I have to accept Papa's."

"All right," he sighed. "I shouldn't be shocked that you insist upon doing things the hard way."

Sybil laughed. "You know me! Besides, you better hang on to your money. You'll need it if you're going to be the family saviour."

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"What?" she replied, looking at him curiously. "Don't tell me you don't know?"

"Apparently I don't," he shook his head.

"Come on Matthew," she said. "Why do you think that my parents are so pleased that you're with Mary? You can't possibly think that they are so concerned about my future that they don't care about hers or Edith's, can you?"

He blinked and paused for a moment, his brow furrowed.

She kept on. "Didn't Mary tell you how they've wanted the two of you together even back when you were teenagers?"

"Yes," he nodded slowly.

"Exactly," she said. "You're a part of the company, you're rich, and you're well aware of the family history. You're exactly the type of man they would want their eldest daughter to marry and produce heirs with."

"Married?" he blurted out. "Really?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?" she teased. "Yes, Matthew. If you and Mary were to wed, my parents would be bursting with joy. Our family's future, and that of the company, would be secure."

"Hang on," he frowned. "Do they want me because they think I would be a good husband and father, or do they want me just for my money?"

"A bit of all of the above, I would think," she said. "Anyway, it doesn't really matter what they want, does it? What matters is what you want, and what Mary wants. And you're not going to lie to me about what you want when it's so obvious, are you?"

Matthew looked away and blushed.

"Marriage is a long business," he said. "I love Mary, but we live a very unique life at the moment. We still need to learn a great deal about each other. Moving so quickly would be rather irrational," he mumbled.

"Yes, it would be. Very irrational," she agreed. "But it's what you want."

He frowned at her, then rolled his eyes at her playful expression.

"We're a long way from having to think about any of that," he declared. "For now, I just want to survive this visit with your parents in one piece."

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"And there you have it," Mary said, closing the folder as she finished her report.

"Hmm," Robert grunted, frowning at the pages. After a while, he closed up the folder and set it aside on the polished table.

"Just be mindful of your costs," he said plainly, pushing his chair back from the table. "These large scale projects can get out of hand quite quickly. You should be meeting regularly with Edith to ensure her people stay on schedule and on budget."

"We meet every day at Crockfords," she said, barely supressing an eye roll. Her father had a ridiculous talent for stating something obvious that she had already thought of, then taking credit for it after the fact.

"I'm glad you're paying attention," he said, rising from his chair and walking over to the bar. He poured himself a glass of water while Mary watched him.

"Papa, I've been meaning to ask you about Patrick," she called.

"What about Patrick?" he asked, his back to her.

"Well, Matthew and I are still investigating his death," she said.

"Are you?" he asked, glancing back at her, then turning to look out the window. "The last you mentioned it, you hadn't come up with a suspect."

"We still haven't," she said. "However, I was thinking that perhaps whoever killed Patrick didn't do it out of revenge or punishment. Perhaps Patrick was killed to send a message."

"A message?" he frowned, turning to look at her. "To whom?"

"To us," she shrugged. "To the family. To you. Perhaps the killer simply wanted to make an example of him, rather than having anything personal against him at all."

"But who would want to do that?" he asked. "We don't have any rivals who would do something so foolish; at least, I don't."

"Neither do I," she said evenly. "But we can't necessarily ignore the possibility. It's as plausible a theory as any other we have at the moment."

"Mary, Patrick died because he was a drug addict," he said tightly, looking back out the window. "Whatever the ultimate reason – because he had enemies, because he did someone wrong – whoever killed him was able to get to him because he needed drugs. I warned him. I warned him so many times, just as I warned his father. That lifestyle – the drugs, the women, the fancy cars and expensive parties – it would all catch up with him in the end, and it did. The young – you all think you're so invincible, so untouchable, that the rules do not apply to you. But they do."

Mary frowned, watching as her father took a sip of his water, a scowl across his face.

"In the end, does it really matter what happened?" he asked, looking over at her, his eyes sad, his face pale. "Patrick's dead, and if not for his own weakness and his addictions, perhaps he'd still be alive today."

Mary watched as her father put his empty glass down on the bar, his posture rigid and tense.

"I'm going to go out for a walk," he said quietly. "I'll see you at dinner."

Mary frowned as her Papa walked tiredly from the room. She stared at the empty space where he once stood before finally getting up and walking briskly out in the other direction.

* * *

Mary steadied the gun in front of her, keeping her eyes on the target in the distance. She slowly exhaled as she fired, compensating for the slight recoil of the gun with each shot. After five shots, she put the safety back on and placed the gun on the shelf in front of her. Pressing the button on the wall, she watched as the paper target wound its way towards her. Taking off her goggles, she narrowed her eyes as she examined the spray of shots across the chest of the silhouette. She reached out and ripped the target down, then placed a fresh page on the board and pressed the button to send it back into position.

"Centre of the body. That's rather boring, isn't it? I thought you'd prefer a head shot," a voice called.

She blinked in surprise and turned her head, her eyes widening at seeing Matthew's smiling face.

"Matthew!" she said, her voice shaking as she took off her ear protectors. "I thought you'd still be out with Sybil."

"She didn't see anything she liked, so we came back," he nodded. "I take it from the fact that you're down here that your meeting with Robert didn't go very well?"

"No, it's was fine," she said nervously. "I…I just came down here to clear my head."

He looked from her face, then over at the gun resting on the shelf, and back up at her.

"I think I'll have a go, myself," he smiled, turning and heading over to the cabinet where they kept their supplies.

"You?" she asked incredulously, watching as he unlocked the cabinet and took out a pair of googles, ear protectors and a metal case.

"Yes, me," he said, mimicking her confused tone. "I could do with some relief as well. Surprised?" he smiled, closing the cabinet and carrying the equipment over to the position next to hers.

"I am, a little," she admitted. "I don't recall you enjoying shooting at all."

She stepped over and leaned against the divider, watching him with a mix of fear and curiosity. After what they'd been through, being around guns in Matthew's presence made her feel anxious. However, she was intrigued as he opened the case and put together the gun with apparent ease. He clicked the magazine into place and checked the sights with a meticulousness that surprised her. The last time she saw him shoot, he seemed as though he just wanted to get it over with and get far away from the range. Now he almost seemed as though he was in his element.

"That was a long time ago," he said, turning his head to catch her eyes. "There's a lot about me that's changed since then, isn't there?"

"Yes," she said, glancing over at her own gun. "And I've changed a lot as well."

"Darling," he said, fiddling with the ear protectors. "You don't think I'm scared of being around you with a gun in your hands, do you?"

She blinked, her mouth falling open. "No," she stammered. "Of course not."

"Good," he nodded. "Because I'm not; and I've been waiting years to give you a proper lesson here at the range."

She narrowed her eyes as she watched him put on his goggles.

"You think you can keep up with me, do you?" she enquired slowly.

"I'm not as incompetent at this as I used to be," he smiled.

"Care to make it interesting?" she asked lightly, turning back to her own station.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"Five shots, most in the centre wins," she said crisply, reloading her gun.

"And what do I get when I win?" he asked cheekily.

"Anything you wish," she replied, not looking at him and focusing on her gun.

"Anything?" he repeated, blinking in surprise.

She turned to look at him, arching her eyebrow as she pulled the slide of the gun back with a loud click, loading a bullet into the chamber.

"Anything," she nodded. "It doesn't matter, because you won't win."

He smirked at her reply. "And what about you?" he asked, looking down the range at the target. "Let me guess – a shopping spree along Sloane Street with my Black Card."

"No," she said dismissively. "I can pay for that myself. When I win, I get to drive your car."

He blinked, turning to look at her bright eyes. "My…my car?" he asked.

"Your car," she nodded.

"Which one?" he asked suspiciously.

"Your favourite," she said. "Nissan GT-R Nismo, turbocharged V6 engine, custom exhaust, custom wheels and Pirelli performance tires."

His eyes widened.

She smiled wickedly. "For an entire month, and you won't be able to touch it, except to ride along in the passenger seat when I permit it."

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Agreed?" she asked. "Or are you now having second thoughts?"

"Agreed," he said, motioning towards her station. "Ladies first."

Mary smiled to herself as they both put on their ear protectors. She went through her normal routine, checking over her gun. The familiar shot of adrenaline flowed through her as she spread her legs shoulder width apart and faced the target. She calmed her breathing, finally raising the gun in front of her when she felt ready. Focusing first on the rear sight of the gun, she swept her eye forward to the front sight, then along the firing line to the target. She exhaled slowly, then fired off five shots in succession, holding the gun steady, only lowering it after she took a full breath at the end of the salvo.

The targets were too far down the range to be sure of the results. Mary clicked the safety and placed the gun on the shelf. She stepped back and stood behind Matthew, nodding to him to proceed.

Matthew turned back to his target. He held the gun in his right hand, pointed at the floor, his left hand palm up underneath the gun and his right wrist. Taking a deep breath, he raised the gun, keeping his elbows slightly bent, and tilted his head to align his eye with the targeting sights and the centre of the black target in the distance. He pulled the trigger, checked his sightline, and fired again.

Mary watched him closely, a slight tremor going down her spine with each shot. She had to admit he looked very different from the nervous university student he was the last time she saw him shoot. He seemed much more confident and comfortable than she remembered. He held the gun more assuredly. His posture was less gangly, more imposing. Where had he practised? From his stance and movements alone, he had become quite good.

He calmly placed the gun on the shelf, followed by his ear protectors. Turning back to Mary, he waited for her to take off her ear protectors before speaking.

"How was that?" he asked smugly.

"You still have no clue how to hold a gun properly," she said airily, stepping back to her station and pressing the button to bring the targets forward. She and Matthew watched each other's targets as they neared. When the sheets arrived, Mary looked at her target closely.

"Two shots centre zone, two nines and an eight," she said proudly.

"Impressive, though not surprising," he nodded. "Very well done, darling."

She smiled, and looked over at his target.

"How about you?" she asked. "Three shots centre zone! Well done," she exclaimed.

"The other shots were a nine and an eight," he observed. "All in all, I'd say I barely shaved it. Just lucky, really."

"I don't think it was luck at all," she smiled, stepping towards him.

"You don't?" he asked.

"No," she said, placing her hands on his waist. "I think the man before me is greatly improved from the boy I once knew."

He smiled as she leaned forward and kissed him softly.

"And I'm not only talking about the shooting," she smirked, smoothing a loose lock of blond hair away from his forehead.

"That's quite a compliment, coming from you," he nodded.

"Well, you've impressed me," she grinned. "Now, what shall be your reward?"

"The mind reels at the possibilities," he smiled, kissing her again.

"Be sure to let me know when you think of something appropriate, then," she teased, kissing him again. "I did agree to anything, and I should hate to be in your debt."

"I'll think about it very, very hard," he said, pulling her closer.

* * *

Sybil sipped her tea, watching as a footman arranged the scones and pastries on platters in the middle of the table, then bowed to her, Edith and their mama before leaving the room.

"You'll speak to Isobel, won't you?" Edith asked her mother.

"Of course I will," Cora nodded. "I've already dropped hints but she's so non-committal. She's like your granny that way. She loves her independence and she thinks if she stays here she's imposing on us."

"Well, that's ridiculous," Sybil frowned, taking a scone from the tray on the table. "Why would she go back to Singapore? Matthew's here."

"Put yourself in her position," Cora said kindly. "She enjoys her work over there, and she's not aware of the recent incident."

"What recent incident?" Robert asked as he came into the sitting room and went over to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"We were just discussing having Mama convince Isobel to stay here, rather than go back to Singapore," Edith said.

"I thought she was happy staying with Mama?" Robert frowned, stirring his cup as he turned to face his wife and daughters.

"She is, but she's afraid she'll wear out her welcome," Cora shook her head. "And no one's told her about the security incident that had Mama bring her back here."

"Security incident?" Robert said in surprise. "I thought Mama just wanted her to come in for a visit."

"No, Papa," Sybil shook her head. "Someone put Isobel under surveillance in Singapore. Granny feigned an illness so she could convince her to come back, when it was really for her own safety."

"Surveillance? Why wasn't I told about this?" Robert asked.

"Mama told me," Cora said.

"Mary told us before we came here," Edith explained. "She wanted us to keep talk of Singapore to a minimum, lest Isobel become wistful and want to go back sooner."

"Did Mama's people catch who was spying on Isobel?" Robert asked.

"No," Sybil said. "They're investigating but Mary didn't say if anything turned up."

"Security incident or not, I'd like Isobel to stay," Cora said. "She and Mama are so close, it would be good for both of them to spend more time together, and I'm sure Matthew would rather she be nearby."

"Of course, of course," Robert nodded, sipping his coffee.

* * *

"What's so funny?" Mary asked, squeezing Matthew's hand as they walked across the grass. The blue sky above provided a colourful backdrop to Downton Abbey behind them, the fields of her family property spread out ahead.

"Nothing," he smiled, shaking his head. "Just thinking."

"About?" she prodded him.

"I don't know how to say this without it coming across as being cheesy or ridiculous, or both," he shrugged.

"Try," she said.

"I just get these spots of memory, from time to time, and we just passed the picnic table," he said.

"Ah," she smiled, glancing over her shoulder at the oak table that had rested beneath the large tree for as long as she could remember. "Yes, the place where you bragged about how you'd managed to get your leg over with me."

"Yes," he shook his head. "Not one of my more stellar moments. That's not the only memory though."

"Is that right?" she smiled. "What else was there?"

"There were times where I'd come up the lane on my bike and look over and see you sitting there reading," he explained. "I sometimes imagined going over to you and striking up a conversation, but I never did."

"Well, probably a wise decision. Trying to maintain conversation with you while you were wearing spandex would have been quite distracting," she said.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"I may not have paid much attention to you back then, darling, but that doesn't mean I didn't notice you at all," she said, arching her eyebrows at him. "Particularly when you were wearing such tight shorts."

They laughed and continued walking.

"You know, it's peculiar," she commented, looking around. "When I was younger, this place was my whole life. All I ever wanted to be was Countess of Grantham and rule over my home for the rest of my days, hosting parties, doing the Season. I never thought I'd ever leave, to be honest. Even when I went to London, that was just for school. I always intended to come back here."

"And now?" he asked.

"Now, it doesn't feel like home anymore," she said plainly. "I still love this place and I'm glad my family still owns it, but it feels more like my parents' home than mine, and I find I'm not bothered by that at all."

"City life agrees with you," he nodded.

"That's part of it, yes," she said. "But I think it's mostly that my life isn't here. My identity, who I am, isn't tied to this place."

"That makes sense," he nodded. "You've built something of your own at Crockfords, something fulfilling."

"Yes, but it's more than that," she said. "Before, I always felt that no matter what I did, it wouldn't be good enough for Papa, because he thought of Patrick and I as one, so all of Patrick's mistakes became my mistakes."

"So you were resigned to always being a disappointment," he nodded.

"Exactly," she nodded. "But now, even though Papa can be just as unreasonable as always, it doesn't bother me the same way. I know I've done good work, and the fact that he may refuse to acknowledge it openly doesn't matter anymore."

"That's quite a mature outlook, darling," he smiled.

"Well, that must mean I'm getting old," she sighed with false despair.

He laughed as they kept walking.

"You didn't tell Isobel, did you?" she stated.

"No," he shook his head, frowning slightly. "Mother tolerates what we do, and I think most of the time she's wilfully blind to it. In her mind, I run an internet business, her best friend is merely a rich grandmother, and her husband died in an unfortunate car accident. I try and keep reminders of the truth to a minimum. Besides, what purpose would it serve? She can't do anything about it. It would only cause her more worry."

Mary nodded. "Has Rose discovered anything else?" she asked.

"No, nothing. The two strangers following Mother around flew out from Singapore shortly after. It was impossible to find out where they were going without following them through to their gate and we weren't equipped for that. They went to the International Terminal so they could have gone anywhere," he explained.

"None of this makes any sense," she shook her head. "What does Isobel have to do with anything?"

"Besides being my mother? Nothing. Nothing at all," he replied.

"If we assume that Sir Richard had Sybil and Edith, and even Anna followed to potentially threaten me to carry out my mission, what's the use of finding out where Isobel is?" she asked. "It's not as though he wants to blackmail you."

"I don't know," he sighed. "This is going far beyond what I would expect from someone who saw me as just a business rival. In the past, I've had the odd bully threaten me because I've taken customers away from traditional gambling establishments, but no one's ever threatened my mother before."

"If he doesn't know that we're on to him, then perhaps it's just as simple as finding out her location so he has the information," she suggested.

"Possibly," he nodded. "Regardless, we're at a stalemate. Mother is safe here and there's no point moving against Carlisle. He still has powerful allies. I won't do anything that puts us at risk for retaliation."

Mary nodded. They crested another rise and stopped, turning around to look at Downton Abbey in the distance.

"It really is a rather large house, isn't it?" he remarked. "Large and quite lovely."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, looking at her family home, then turning her gaze to him.

* * *

Mary gave Matthew a playful smile as she followed her Mama and sisters through to the sitting room. With Isobel and Violet entertaining some of Violet's friends, it was just Mary's immediate family at dinner tonight. Carson brought out the port as the women left the room.

"When are you due to leave?" Robert asked idly, nodding to Carson and taking the small port glass.

"Early tomorrow," Matthew said, sitting back in his chair. "Mary wants to be back in London in time for lunch."

Robert nodded and took a sip.

Matthew waited for Carson to leave the dining room before speaking further.

"Robert, we've never spoken about the future, at least not in precise terms," he said carefully.

"The future?" Robert repeated, not looking at him. "What of it?"

"Well," Matthew said. "When you summoned me to London, it was for the purpose of putting Patrick's division to the good, and I've done that."

"To a degree, you have, yes," Robert allowed. "Do you believe your work is finished then?"

"Actually, no," Matthew said. "I've found several reasons to stay, such that I may consider making my move more permanent beyond the ten months we originally discussed."

"Ah," Robert nodded. "Well, since you've chosen to finance part of the expansion of Crockfords, it stands to reason you would want to be on hand to guide it forward."

"Yes, that's true, although I could do that from Manchester. We have cameras set up at the construction site now and all of the reports are electronic of course," Matthew said.

"What else, then?" Robert asked lightly, finally looking at him. "You wish to stay for Mary, is that it?"

"In part, yes," Matthew nodded, allowing a slight smile to cross his lips. "We are quite happy together."

"Wonderful," Robert said guardedly.

"It hasn't been that long that we've been dating," Matthew said. "However it is another positive in favour of my staying in London."

"How nice for the two of you," Robert nodded.

"Thank you," Matthew nodded. "I hope we can always be honest with each other, Robert, and I want you to know that I have no preference for any plan of succession. That's not why I'm choosing to stay."

"Good of you to say so," Robert replied. "In any event, I do not believe we'll need to consider a change in leadership for quite some time."

"No, of course not," Matthew shook his head.

"If you will be staying on with us for a while yet, then you should become more familiar with the way we do things, Matthew," Robert said. "I know that you've left the monthly reporting to Mary, but I'd like some more detail from your division going forward. I think that if you are to be more than a mere caretaker for those properties, then I should be kept current on exactly what your plans are."

Matthew looked at the Earl for a second before nodding. "As you wish," he said.

"Mary also mentioned to me that you're still looking into Patrick's death," Robert noted.

"That's right," Matthew nodded. "Though nothing's really turned up."

"I hope you are prepared for the very real possibility that nothing may ever turn up, Matthew," Robert nodded. "We know that Patrick died from a drug overdose. That may be all we ever know. That may be all there ever is to know."

"I suppose that is possible, yes," Matthew agreed.

"I learned to take such a view when James died," Robert said. "Take it from me, it's a far healthier perspective. It's far too easy to both invent conspiracy theories without actual evidence and to be consumed by them."

Matthew looked at Robert curiously, weighing the man's advice. The Earl did not offer anything further and eventually Matthew turned away and took a sip of port, waiting for Robert's command to go through so he could rejoin Mary.

 **The Balcony, Galvin at Windows Restaurant, Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London, England, May 2015**

"Our source was told that Mrs. Crawley completed her project early, and left Singapore shortly thereafter," Cyril Hightower reported.

Richard sliced off a piece of his pork chop, stabbed the piece with a fork and dabbed it in the applesauce before taking a bite. He chewed for several seconds, then went back to slicing.

"And her present whereabouts?" Richard asked.

"Unknown," Cyril replied. "She hasn't been spotted back in Manchester. I suppose she could be here in the city by now, and if so…"

"Then she's under Matthew Crawley's protection, so it doesn't matter whether we know her whereabouts or not," Richard sneered, taking another bite of his pork chop.

"Shall I inform the Albanians that you require them for the additional services we discussed?" Cyril asked.

Richard picked up his tumbler of Scotch and swirled the amber liquid around idly. He took a long sip and savoured it before replying.

"Yes," Richard nodded. "Put them on notice. We'll wait until next month when the Season begins. Lord and Lady Grantham will be here, which will give us the audience that we want, for maximum effect."

"Yes, Sir Richard," Cyril nodded.

"That's all," Richard said, waving his hand.

"Good night, Sir Richard," Cyril said, standing up and bowing his head before leaving the restaurant.

As Cyril emerged from the hotel, he checked the time on his mobile before putting it away in his jacket pocket. Checking both ways for traffic, he walked across the street and took Curzon Gate into Hyde Park. He stayed to the right side of the path, allowing joggers and tourists to pass by as he meandered his way north to the 7 July Memorial. Glancing about, Cyril walked into the memorial and pretended to examine each of the 52 steel columns. He took a second mobile phone out of the pocket of his trousers and pressed a speed dial button. He looked around again as he placed the phone to his ear.

"It's me," Cyril said as his call was answered. "I've just come from meeting with him."

"Your people in Singapore were spotted," came the reply.

"I know," Cyril nodded, speaking quietly. "It's all right, though. He doesn't know that. He thinks that she just left because her time at the hospital was up."

"And what does he plan to do next?" the voice asked.

"He wants the Albanians to prepare to move against Matthew Crawley," Cyril said.

"He wouldn't," was the answer. "When?"

"He says he wants to wait for the Season to begin," Cyril said.

"So that the family is all gathered together in London," the voice said.

"I expect that is the intention, yes," Cyril nodded. "What do you want me to tell the Albanians?"

There was a lengthy pause from the other end of the call.

"Tell them to prepare, as ordered," the voice said finally. "But they aren't to do anything unless I give you the approval."

"Understood," Cyril said, walking slowly among the steel columns. "He won't do anything unless he believes that Matthew Crawley is a legitimate threat. For now, he believes that he is."

"He may very well turn out to be," the voice said. "I don't know what he knows, exactly, but he's continuing to investigate, and I don't know what he may find."

"And there's no way to dissuade him or throw him off?" Cyril asked.

"No," the voice sighed. "He is proving to be quite impossible to control."

"Very well," Cyril said. "Good night, then, sir."

The voice hung up without replying.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

Robert frowned as he hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment. His attention was drawn away as the door to his study opened.

"My Lord," Carson bowed his head. "Her Ladyship is asking for you in the parlour. Your dinner guests have arrived."

"Of course," Robert nodded, getting up from his chair and heading for the door. "Any word from Mary and Matthew?"

"Lady Sybil says they arrived back in London earlier this afternoon, my Lord," Carson nodded.

"Very good," Robert said.

He walked past the butler and down the hall, putting on his best smile before joining Cora, Edith, Sybil and their dinner guests in the parlour.


	22. Chapter 22

**Previously:**

 **The Balcony, Galvin at Windows Restaurant, Hilton Park Hotel, Park Lane, London, England, May 2015**

As Cyril emerged from the hotel, he checked the time on his mobile before putting it away in his jacket pocket. Checking both ways for traffic, he walked across the street and took Curzon Gate into Hyde Park. He stayed to the right side of the path, allowing joggers and tourists to pass by as he meandered his way north to the 7 July Memorial. Glancing about, Cyril walked into the memorial and pretended to examine each of the 52 steel columns. He took a second mobile phone out of the pocket of his trousers and pressed a speed dial button. He looked around again as he placed the phone to his ear.

"It's me," Cyril said as his call was answered. "I've just come from meeting with him."

"Your people in Singapore were spotted," came the reply.

"I know," Cyril nodded, speaking quietly. "It's all right, though. He doesn't know that. He thinks that she just left because her time at the hospital was up."

"And what does he plan to do next?" the voice asked.

"He wants the Albanians to prepare to move against Matthew Crawley," Cyril said.

"He wouldn't," was the answer. "When?"

"He says he wants to wait for the Season to begin," Cyril said.

"So that the family is all gathered together in London," the voice said.

"I expect that is the intention, yes," Cyril nodded. "What do you want me to tell the Albanians?"

There was a lengthy pause from the other end of the call.

"Tell them to prepare, as ordered," the voice said finally. "But they aren't to do anything unless I give you the approval."

"Understood," Cyril said, walking slowly among the steel columns. "He won't do anything unless he believes that Matthew Crawley is a legitimate threat. For now, he believes that he is."

"He may very well turn out to be," the voice said. "I don't know what he knows, exactly, but he's continuing to investigate, and I don't know what he may find."

"And there's no way to dissuade him or throw him off?" Cyril asked.

"No," the voice sighed. "He is proving to be quite impossible to control."

"Very well," Cyril said. "Good night, then, sir."

The voice hung up without replying.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

Robert frowned as he hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment. His attention was drawn away as the door to his study opened.

"My Lord," Carson bowed his head. "Her Ladyship is asking for you in the parlour. Your dinner guests have arrived."

"Of course," Robert nodded, getting up from his chair and heading for the door. "Any word from Mary and Matthew?"

"Lady Sybil says they arrived back in London earlier this afternoon, my Lord," Carson nodded.

"Very good," Robert said.

He walked past the butler and down the hall, putting on his best smile before joining Cora, Edith, Sybil and their dinner guests in the parlour.

 **Chapter 22:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2015**

Matthew sliced his stainless steel steak knife through the Beef Wellington, the blade cracking the crisp pastry crust and running smoothly through the beef cooked to medium rare. He speared a piece with his fork and brought it to his mouth, his eyes looking down the dining table as he chewed.

Mary was looking down at her plate, busy eating. She had taken her hair down from its tight, slicked-back bun from earlier, and it fell in loose waves to just above her bare shoulders. When he came home from the office, he found her changed into a black tank top and jeans, the thin straps of her top showing her pale skin and the sweep of her collarbones. He smiled, reaching for his glass of wine as his eyes lingered on her lips moving as she ate.

Mary snuck a glance down the table at him. She thought the dish turned out spectacularly, easily the best she'd ever made, but he was so maddeningly discerning about food, easily the pickiest eater she'd ever met. He didn't care for mushrooms, but one could not make a proper Beef Wellington without mushrooms in the filling. She looked back down lest he catch her staring. She had left work early to get back and cook dinner and he thankfully came back late, which gave her more time. It was all rather disgustingly domestic, but she didn't have the time or energy to care. She was too nervous about how her first meal cooking for Matthew would go over to be bothered about the thought of her slaving away in the kitchen while he was at the office.

She took up her wine glass to distract her. They'd been quite domestic in the past 48 hours. Upon coming back to London yesterday afternoon, they decided to stay at Grantham House as Edith and Sybil would be at Downton Abbey for two more days. He conveniently had his luggage with him, so there was no need to go back to the hotel to fetch anything. They woke up this morning, showered together and dressed, had a light breakfast before he drove them into work. Even Mrs. Bute seemed to smile at the sight of them, as though Grantham House was theirs, and they were living together as a proper couple.

Mary sipped her wine, looking back down at her plate. It was curious how important this meal had become for her. It started with a mere discussion over what they were going to do for dinner. 'I'll whip something up' she blurted out, and he laughed of course, thinking she was being facetious. Whether it was her indignation at his thinking she couldn't, or wouldn't cook, or her determination to show him not to underestimate her on anything, she declared that she would cook dinner and, moreover, that he would not be told what was on the menu until he sat down to eat.

Now she watched him carefully, studying for signs of disapproval or, worse, distaste. He was always so quick to make a comment when they ate out. 'Too much salt' 'Undercooked' 'Absolutely perfect' 'This is ambrosia itself'. He was equally generous with both praise and condemnation. It was silly, actually. Mary knew that the meal tasted delicious, but she still wanted to hear him say as much.

"Well…" Matthew said, swallowing his wine.

"Well…what?" she asked, watching him closely.

"Well, this is delicious, Mary!" he smiled, taking another bite of the Beef Wellington. "Quite outstanding."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Mary said, arching her eyebrow. "Did you think I was only capable of boiling water and scrambling eggs?"

"I didn't know what to think, if I'm honest," he smiled. "And since you wouldn't tell me what you were making and banished me from the kitchen, my mind ran wild with visions of the contents of the food processor exploding all over you."

"Nothing so dramatic," she shook her head. "It just takes time to prepare and bake, is all. And for your information, I had Mrs. Bute order the groceries, but that's it. This entire meal is by my own hands, no servants were involved."

"Impressive," he nodded. "Perhaps we'll need to forego room service at the hotel and eat in more often."

"Oh, I don't know," she said lightly. "It seems that it's your turn to cook for me, if we're being fair."

"Is that all this was about?" he chuckled. "Reciprocity?"

"Not at all," she said, taking up her wine glass and balancing it in her long fingers as she spoke. "I cooked for you because I enjoy cooking, and because I wanted to. However, I do think it's important that both people in a relationship contribute in most areas. It ensures that no one is ever taken for granted."

She took a sip, watching him with sharp eyes.

"I could never take you for granted, darling," he replied, slicing into his beef and spearing it with his fork. "And, if you insist, then fine, I'll cook for you."

"Don't sound so eager," she smirked. "Perhaps your reluctance is due to something else."

"Such as?" he asked, taking a bite of beef.

"Well, maybe you just aren't very good at cooking and you don't want to embarrass yourself," she stated.

Matthew swallowed and took a sip of wine. "That's not it," he said finally.

"Oh?" she smiled. "Careful, now. It's all right if you aren't up to it. There's no need to boast that you're Daniel Boulud or Gordon Ramsay."

"Neither," he shook his head, then looked directly at her. "I'm not concerned about my abilities in the kitchen; it's your appetite, rather."

"What about it?" she asked, arching her eyebrow. "Afraid that you can't sate my hunger?"

"On the contrary," he answered right away, blue eyes bright. "I'm afraid I'll have you begging for second and third helpings."

She smiled and sipped her wine.

"I look forward to sampling your menu, then," she said.

They finished up the main course, as well as a bottle of red wine. With Mary having dismissed the servants for the evening, they cleared the table themselves, Matthew taking the dishes to the kitchen sink while she hunted in the refrigerator for their dessert.

"Key lime pie," Matthew smiled, watching as Mary cut a rather large slice and placed it on a plate. "Did you make that yourself as well?"

"No, I'm afraid not," she laughed. "Mrs. Bute picked it up for us from the bakery that we use."

"I'll look past it this time," he grinned, taking the plate and fetching two dessert forks from the drawer. "But if I decide to make dessert for you as part of my meal, then that would require you to do the same, to be fair."

"That depends on whether your dessert is any good," she replied, following him out of the kitchen.

He glanced back at her playfully, then took her hand and led her through of the dining room.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the parlour," he said.

"Eating in the parlour? Goodness," she teased. "You are making yourself at home, aren't you? If Carson was here, he'd be aghast."

"If Carson was here, he'd be giving me his worst scowl just for holding your hand," he laughed as they came into the parlour. He led her over to the couch and they sat down. Placing the plate on his lap, he handed Mary a fork, then put his arm around her as she snuggled against him and they shared the slice of pie.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something for the longest time," she said, licking her fork. "How did you get your start in Manchester? With the gambling, I mean."

"It was luck, mostly," he smiled. "When I was in high school, the lads would always make stupid bets, mainly on matches between United and City, or United and Liverpool. We started keeping track of it all, just in a notebook. We came up with our own odds, our own proposition bets, it was all just for a few quid here and there, nothing serious."

"Huddled around with your mates scribbling down sports bets in a notebook," Mary nodded. "My, you must have had all the girls pining for you."

Matthew frowned at her wryly.

"As I was saying," he continued pointedly. "It was just some messing around for practically no real money, but it did get me thinking about how odds are calculated on matches and what factors influence the outcome of any particular match – weather, injuries, where the match is played, trends and tendencies of the players, how the public puts more emphasis on certain things than they really should. I started looking at United's matches from a different perspective, and I developed a bit of an affinity for predicting when they would win, lose, or draw. I became rather good at it, even was able to get the score right more often than not."

"So you started gambling yourself," she smiled.

"I was terrified of it at first," he chuckled. "I spent months just writing down my predictions without actually putting any money on any matches. I didn't actually become serious about it until sixth form and university. I ended up winning more than I lost."

"So when did the websites come about?" she asked.

"I came up with the idea in university and Alex had connections to help us with the tech side. Your father gave me a loan," he said. "I told him I needed seed money to start up my own online sports betting site. He thought I was mad, but I didn't ask him for very much and I agreed to give him a cut if I ever got it off the ground. We went online right when online poker really took off, and when the Premier League grew in popularity worldwide, we rode that wave. We added more sports as we went along. The principles are basically the same for any match. At first, we would just copy whatever the legal sports books set as the betting lines. Over time, as we grew more comfortable with it, we would set our own odds and that's when we really took off. We placed our servers offshore – Vietnam, the Cayman Islands – where the government and authorities wouldn't bother us and no one would come looking for us, and it's all grown since then."

"Interesting," she nodded.

"You were rather shocked when I told you how successful the operation was," he smiled.

"I'll admit I was rather dismissive of your prospects," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "I did look into your websites early on, but it just seemed that on any given match, the best return was double the initial bet at most, if that. I didn't see where your significant gains could come from."

"That's a common assumption, actually," he said. "It's just like any casino game, darling. We lure the gambler in with the idea of a decent payout, but more often than not, they're only getting a few percentage points on their money. That's why the House always wins. We make a few points here, and a few points there, and over time, the gambler will lose all his winnings trying to chase after more."

"You profit from the sheer volume of the bets you take," she said.

"Exactly," he nodded, placing the finished plate on the coffee table and pulling Mary closer. "Everyone loves an instant success story – the lottery winner, or someone who bets big on an underdog who comes good. But true wealth is built by recognizing the value in small gains and minimizing the losses. And, when you see a bigger opportunity arise, hit it hard. Some of my most profitable days have come from just noticing information a few minutes before the general public catches on, and adjusting accordingly."

"Hmm," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You find it boring," he smiled, turning and kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry that I'm not more exciting; that I'm not a Formula 1 driver or a big-time Canary Wharf financier."

"No need to apologize," she said lightly. "People do such very odd things these days. At least you've found a way to actually make money off of sports, rather than just waste your time watching them."

"I'm glad you approve," he laughed. "Though, to be fair, you seemed to enjoy winning a chunk off of me the other day on West Brom."

"That was just beginner's luck," she said, patting his thigh. "You won't find me giving my winnings back. That was my one and only sports bet."

"Well, that's rather disappointing," he sighed. "I was hoping for the chance to recover my money."

"You still have the bet you won at Downton. You could just order that I pay you back what I won," she suggested.

"Oh, I couldn't do that," he scoffed. "You promised that I could have 'anything'. It would be too common to ask for money, don't you think?"

"Definitely," she smiled, turning in his arms to face him. "I would be very disappointed if you did not make me work to satisfy this bet."

"I most certainly will," he smiled, kissing her softly. "You're not afraid of what I may demand of you, are you?"

"No," she said, kissing him back. "Knowing you as well as I do now, I expect I will enjoy it enormously."

She climbed onto his lap, straddling him as they kissed, his hands moving up her legs to caress her denim-clad bottom. Her fingers moved to his shirt, reaching for the buttons. Just as his tongue caressed hers, they were jolted apart by the blaring of her mobile phone.

"Fuck," she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his.

"Yes, that was the goal," he grunted.

"It's Anna," she apologized, stroking his cheek before she got up off of him and took out her phone. "She wouldn't call unless it was important."

Matthew rolled his eyes as Mary answered the call and wandered across the room speaking to Anna. He took the free moment to take out his own mobile and check his email, messages and websites.

"Apparently a group showed up at Crockfords expecting me to be there and they're raising a fuss that I'm not," Mary shook her head as she came back to the couch. "I'll have to go in."

"Why? Who is it?" he frowned.

"A group from Japan," she sighed. "They weren't due in until tomorrow but it seems they couldn't wait to come by."

"I suppose we're to be flattered by that?" he groaned, standing up from the couch.

"Yes, actually," she smiled. "It's a gesture that they are so eager for our hospitality that they deliberately changed their schedule just to see us."

"Without notifying us first," he added. "Yes, quite the compliment."

"I'll be quick about it," she promised. "Just a greeting and some drinks, that's all."

"And some poker, and some selfies, no doubt," he grumbled, following her out to the stairs. "And you need to change, don't you?"

"So do you," she noted. "Rather fortunate that you have a suit in your luggage."

"Yes, lucky, that's me," he muttered, following Mary upstairs.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, May 2015**

Matthew stepped off the elevator and wandered down the darkened hallway. He strolled along casually, his hands in his pockets, finally stopping at one of the few lit offices on the floor.

"How are the Japanese doing?" Alex asked, not looking up from his computer as Matthew came in and sat down in his usual chair on the other side of the desk.

"They're drunk, losing money and don't have a care in the world," Matthew replied. "Just the way we like them."

"And who are they, exactly?" Alex asked, pushing back and wheeling his chair over to the mini fridge to fetch Matthew a Coke.

"Executives from Sony," Matthew replied, nodding as he took the can from Alex and opened it. "They make the trip over once a year to meet with their European division."

"Well, I'm sorry we had to interrupt your evening, but I'm glad you're here," Alex said. "They were frankly driving Anna mental."

"They all love us again," Matthew muttered, taking a sip. "Nothing that a few bottles of complimentary sake and some time with Mary wouldn't fix."

"You must admit, she's quite good," Alex stated.

"She's the best," Matthew agreed. "I just find it frustrating that our Vice-President, Operations also happens to be our best hostess."

"You find it frustrating that the majority of our rich guests only enjoy themselves here when they can spend time with your girlfriend," Alex smirked. "It's all right to admit it, you know."

"That's not true," Matthew retorted. "I would be equally annoyed if it was Anna or Gwen or anyone who is not specifically employed to perform that role."

"She's the Vice-President, Operations," Alex noted. "Part of her job is to deal with guests. If a guest had a serious complaint, it would work its way up to her. There's no difference here, except that in this case, the guests are at least spending money rather than bitching about there being too much ice in their free drinks."

Matthew scoffed and drank his Coke.

"Mr. Lewis, Mr. Crawley, sir," William said, knocking on Alex's open office door.

"Mr. Mason, perfect timing," Matthew said, glaring at Alex, then turning his head to look over at the young man. "How may we help you?"

"I just finished going over the surveillance data for Mr. Hightower from the weekend, sir," William said. "I was going to report to you tomorrow on it, but since you're here…"

"Good man, Mr. Mason," Matthew said, getting up from his chair. "Let's deal with this in my office."

Alex smiled and rose from his chair, picking up his drink and following Matthew and William across to Matthew's office.

* * *

"Tonic water with lime," Anna smiled, handing the glass to Mary.

"Thank you," Mary nodded, taking a long sip and sighing as she looked back out across the casino floor. "I think they've finally released me, thank God."

"I'm surprised you're still coherent after all the sake toasts you had to partake in," Anna smiled.

"The secret is to take very small sips," Mary nodded. "And to have the staff water down my cup as well."

Anna laughed. "Well, whatever your secrets are, they're working. All the Japanese guests seem to be enjoying themselves, and they're collectively down £200,000 to us," Anna said.

"That is promising, but I'm sure it will be small consolation for Matthew," Mary said. "Where did he wander off to? Did he head upstairs?"

"Yes," Anna confirmed. "After the first few hands, he slipped away and went to find Alex."

"Right. I'll linger for a little while longer, then go and collect him. I promised we wouldn't have to stay long, but I expect I've gone well past that prediction already," Mary said, smiling and nodding as another one of the Japanese gamblers waved at her from across the room.

* * *

"Mr. Hightower and Sir Richard had dinner, then at just past 9 p.m., Mr. Hightower is seen exiting the hotel alone," William recited as Matthew and Alex watched the surveillance video on one of the computer monitors.

"At this point, Motor 1 holds position and we have Mobile 2 engage when it's clear that Mr. Hightower is heading into Hyde Park," William said.

Matthew and Alex watched as the video switched from the camera being held by one of the men in the car parked outside the Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, to a small camera hidden in the bag of one of the surveillance team who followed Hightower on foot.

"Now, we did get lucky here as Mr. Hightower decides to go to the 7 July Memorial and makes a phone call. He's using a different mobile from the one we see him make his calls on to Sir Richard, so it suggests that he's having a private conversation that Sir Richard may not be aware of, otherwise, why use a completely different mobile?" William said.

"Did you have sufficient range with the microphone from Motor 1?" Alex asked.

"Yes, but they could only get Mr. Hightower's end of the conversation," William nodded. "But, Mobile 2 was able to go into the Memorial itself and reduce range to Mr. Hightower to just a few feet. The voice on the other end is garbled, but you can at least make out a few words."

"What about the mobile number?" Matthew asked.

"It's unlisted," William said. "We weren't able to intercept the number while he was on the call. Unless he has a lengthy call or we nick the phone somehow, the number's unknown."

"What about previous calls?" Matthew asked. "Are we able to match this conversation to others from past surveillance?"

"This was the first time we observed Mr. Hightower using a second phone," William said. "We'll keep on top of him going forward, but all the conversations we may have caught up to now were on the phone he used to speak with Sir Richard."

"What happens after the call?" Matthew asked.

"Mr. Hightower took a taxi back to his home. No contact with the Albanians as far as we're aware," William said.

"All right, then," Matthew said. "Leave it with me, Mr. Mason. Good work."

"Thank you, sir," William nodded. "Good night. Mr. Lewis."

"William," Alex replied, then turned back to Matthew.

"If you're all right, I'm going to go downstairs and see if Anna needs anything," Alex said.

"Go on," Matthew nodded. "I'm hoping I'll be down soon after."

Alex left Matthew's office and went down the hall, catching William as he was getting into the elevator.

Matthew put on his wireless headphones and opened the audio files. When he played the telephone conversation from Hyde Park, Hightower's voice was clear and crisp, but there was an echo and static to the other person's voice, as well as wind and background noise. He fiddled around with the audio settings, trying to separate the different sounds so he could raise and lower the volume as necessary, attempting to eliminate the background noise and emphasize the voices, specifically the other person's. Hightower's part of the conversation was already disturbing enough as it was.

"… _He thinks that she just left because her time at the hospital was up."_

" _He says he wants to wait for the Season to begin…"_

" _He won't do anything unless he believes that Matthew Crawley is a legitimate threat. For now, he believes that he is."_

" _And there's no way to dissuade him or throw him off?"_

" _Very well. Good night, then, sir."_

"Damn," Matthew muttered, moving his mouse pointer across the screen, replaying the conversation again.

" _Singapore…spot…"_

" _family…London…"_

"… _don't know….knows…"_

" _impossible…control…"_

Matthew frowned as he played with the audio settings yet again. Clearly Hightower was reporting to someone else on Carlisle's activities, and someone who had a vested interest in Carlisle's dealings with Matthew. Strangely though, the person on the other end of the conversation was aware that Matthew's mother was in Singapore and recently left. Why would anyone who used Hightower as a double-agent care about that?

" _continuing to…don't know what…"_

Matthew focused on this one line of dialogue and set it to play on loop, changing different levels as he listened, trying to isolate the voice as best he could. It was obviously a man's voice, and moreover, someone who was not only aware of Carlisle's plotting against Matthew and the Crawleys but also someone invested enough to take great measures to monitor the situation.

" _He…well…be…"_

The revelation that Carlisle wanted the Albanians to move against Matthew was a bit disturbing, but not overly so. Ever since finding out that the Albanians were involved, such a risk existed. It helped to know that there would perhaps be an attempt during the Season. That would allow Matthew to take precautions, even perhaps convince Mary to leave the city with him, or he could go away on his own for a month or two, not that he wanted to.

" _continuing to investigate…"_

Matthew blinked and stared at the monitor with wide eyes. He moved the sliders on the audio mixer program furiously, each correction bringing the voice into clearer detail. The accent. The cadence. The bite. His heart beat faster as the playback looped again, the words filling in as Matthew eliminated more of the background noise.

" _He may…well…be…don't know what he knows…continuing to investigate, and I don't know what he…find…"_

Matthew's mouth fell open as he listened to Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, President of Crawley Group, speak to Cyril Hightower, Richard Carlisle's lieutenant. Hightower had specifically warned that Matthew's life was at risk, that Carlisle was moving against him, that the Albanian Mafia, trained killers all of them, were being pitted against him. Robert's voice had remained even and unperturbed, his responses calculated and emotionless.

Matthew finally had to stop the playback. He couldn't listen to another word of it. No one ever mentioned anything about a connection between Robert and Hightower. Mary knew nothing about it. They shared all information from the investigation with each other and she was just as shocked as he was the more they found out about how deep Carlisle may have been involved in Patrick's murder.

Matthew frowned. Everything he knew, even going back to his arrival in London, was now thrown on its head.

"What are you listening to?" Mary asked, smiling as she came into his office.

Matthew looked up at her with wide eyes, then smiled and removed his headphones.

"Ready to go home?" she asked.

"Ready," he nodded, turning off his monitors and getting up from his desk.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2015**

The drive from Crockfords to Grantham House was barely five minutes at this time of night. It may as well have been hours as Matthew drove as if in a trance, numb and in shock from what he had discovered. If not for the fact that he knew the route so well and there were practically no other cars on the road, he likely would have done something stupid such as go the wrong way on a one-way street or rash his wheels against the kerb. As it was, he drove in silence, not even aware of Mary being in the car with him, and parked the car down the street from Grantham House.

"You're rather quiet," Mary noted as she got out of the car and took his arm. "Deep in contemplation, are you?"

"About what?" he asked, touching the car door quickly. The car chirped and its lights flashed as it locked itself.

"Perhaps you're formulating what you will ask of me tonight to settle our bet?" she flirted, smiling as she leaned against him, their steps clicking along the pavement. "Am I to wear a specific outfit and assume a particular position?"

"Bet or not, I often have such thoughts of you," he replied. "I didn't know I was so easy to read."

"You're not, I've just become more skilled at it," she answered.

They reached the stately home and walked slowly up the stairs. Mary reached into her purse and retrieved the key. She looked at him playfully as she handed it to him.

"I told the servants to retire for the evening before we left," she smiled. "I didn't want them to be awake when we got back. It could be rather inconvenient."

Matthew opened the door and allowed her to go in first, following close behind her.

"Do you mind if I take a moment first?" he asked after he locked the door. "I just need to check on some North American matches."

"Yes, I do mind, actually," she said, arching her eyebrow. "Now, where would you like me?"

Matthew blinked, then composed himself and deliberately raked his eyes up her body, the sleeveless black gown hugging her figure, finally coming to rest on her brown eyes.

"You're right, of course," he smiled. "Let's go upstairs."

She nodded, smiling mischievously as he placed his arm around her waist and guided her upstairs.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, May 2015**

Alex set his tablet down on the coffee table, turning on to his side and lifting his head from the sofa cushion. He smiled and looked across the room. Anna was seated at the dining table, eyes fixed to the computer screen, deep in concentration. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy ponytail. When they got home from Crockfords she had changed into the t-shirt and boxer shorts she preferred when lounging around. He had expected they would watch a movie or something before going to bed, the two of them still rather wired from the evening to go to sleep right away. He had taken over the sofa while waiting for her to come lounge with him, but instead she had opened up her computer and had been hard at work ever since.

"You'll make me look bad, you know," Alex smiled, raising up from the sofa and walking over into the kitchen. "Look at you being all dedicated and disciplined. Lady Mary and Matthew will think I'm lazy by comparison."

"Mary and Mr. Crawley already know that I'm a harder worker than you," Anna smiled, looking up as he came out of the kitchen and placed a glass of orange juice down in front of her.

"Thank you," she beamed, tilting her head as he leaned down to kiss her. She took a sip while he sat down next to her and gazed at the computer screen.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Just going over the data from Mr. Patrick's USB drive that you found…again," she said, nodding towards the screen. "Do you remember how when you first looked at the files, you thought they were just a set of financials?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It wasn't until Matthew told me to hunt for hidden files that I found the actual data that Patrick had saved."

"Right, but I don't think these financials are just for show, though," she said. "I think there's something to them."

"Well, they are actual financials," he shrugged. "I never doubted their authenticity."

"I know that, but look here," she said, bringing up one of the statements on the screen. "This is a listing of share transactions, different buy and sell orders, dating back to 2005."

"All right," he nodded. "What about them?"

"They aren't company transactions," she said, looking at him with a furrowed brow. "Crawley Group doesn't hold shares of these companies or commodities in its portfolio. We mainly invest in currencies and gold because we don't want to have a high profile and attract too much attention."

"So who's transactions are these then?" he asked, looking at the screen.

"Well, at first I assumed they were Mr. Patrick's," she said. "But the volumes don't make any sense. They're far too large. Even though Mr. Patrick was rich, he wouldn't have this much money invested in the stock market. There's literally millions involved in each transaction."

"These transactions are all grouped together," he noted. "Look here, there's several orders placed on the oil futures market, but whoever the investor was closed the position within a month."

"I noticed that," she nodded. "Whoever's portfolio this is didn't hold a long position on anything in particular. Why would someone buy and sell so quickly?"

"Well, either they wanted to cut their losses…" he said.

"Or they made a killing and wanted to cash out," she finished.

"If this isn't from Patrick's personal portfolio, then he must have had this information for a reason. Maybe he was on to something and this is part of his investigation," he suggested.

"Yes, and maybe there's more to this than we know, and this was part of his leverage against whoever made these investments," she replied. "What do you think?"

"I think we'll need to show this to Matthew and Lady Mary," he said. "They may be able to understand it more than we can."

"You're probably right," she nodded, closing her computer. "I just hope it leads to something. I'm rather over running into dead ends on this."

"As am I," he smiled, kissing her lightly. "Shower?"

"That would be lovely," she grinned, getting up from her chair and leading him down the hall to the bedroom.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2015**

Mary came into the bedroom and walked over to her bed. She turned around and smiled, leaning back against the bedpost, watching as Matthew closed the door firmly.

"What is thy biding, Mr. Crawley?" she teased. "Your wish is my command."

"What an enticing offer," he said thickly, closing the distance between them. He reached out and took hold of the bedpost, his hand next to her cheek. His other hand reached over and slid along her hip, keeping her in place as he leaned into her.

"Mary," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I love you so, so madly."

"I know you do," she said huskily, opening her mouth to his tongue. "Tell me what you want me to do."

He kissed her several times, then stepped back slightly, taking deep breaths.

"There's something I need to talk to you about," he said in a low voice.

"Can't it wait?" she asked, taking hold of his lapel and tugging him back towards her.

"No, it can't," he said, keeping out of range of her lips. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and took out his phone.

"If you want to film us, that's fine, but I told you that you must ensure you don't get hacked," she smiled. "I won't have our escapades passed around the internet for any and all to see."

"I'm afraid it's nothing so delightful," he shook his head.

"What is it?" she frowned.

"Listen to this, very carefully," he said, pressing a link on his phone screen.

" _It's me._ _I've just come from meeting with him."_

"Is that…Cyril Hightower?" she asked, blinking as she glanced at Matthew's phone, then back at him.

"It is," he nodded. "William sent me the latest surveillance audio. This was taken over the weekend."

"Darling, I admire your dedication, but surely this can wait," she smiled seductively.

"No, it can't," he said. "Just listen."

" _He wants the Albanians to prepare to move against Matthew Crawley."_

Mary's eyes went wide in surprise.

" _He wouldn't…"_

Mary frowned at hearing the second voice.

" _He says he wants to wait for the Season to begin."_

" _So…the family…gathered together in London."_

Mary's mouth opened.

Matthew swallowed nervously, watching her as the audio continued to play.

" _What do you want me to tell the Albanians?"_

" _Tell them to prepare, as ordered…do anything…I give you the approval."_

Mary shook her head slightly.

" _He won't do anything unless he believes that Matthew Crawley is a legitimate threat. For now, he believes that he is."_

" _He may…well…be…don't know what he knows…continuing to investigate, and I don't know what he…find…"_

"No," Mary hissed. "No…"

" _He is…be quite impossible to control."_

"It can't be," she swallowed. "It just can't."

" _Very well…good night, then, sir."_

Matthew turned off the playback and lowered his hand. Mary stepped away from him and walked over to the window, hugging herself as a cold shiver made her tremble.

"It's Robert, Mary," he said quietly. "Hightower called him on a separate unlisted phone just after he left a dinner meeting with Carlisle at the Hilton Park Lane. He's working for your father. I don't know for how long."

"But how?" she frowned, turning around and looking at him. "And why didn't he tell us?"

"Perhaps because he doesn't want us to know," he said. "This obviously isn't the first time they've spoken, which suggests that Hightower has been working for Robert for a while. We've been keeping the details about what we know of Hightower and the Albanians confidential to stop Robert from becoming involved, but it appears he is much more involved than we could have imagined."

"But why would Papa need to have Hightower working for him in the first place?" she asked.

"It could have been something as innocent as wanting to have a mole within Carlisle's organization, just to have an inside man to feed him information," he sighed. "But that doesn't explain why Robert knew about the surveillance of my mother and chose not to share the information or do anything to protect her. It also doesn't explain why he appears remarkably calm about the suggestion that Carlisle will be moving against me during the Season."

"I can't believe this," she shook her head.

"Mary," he said, taking a careful step towards her. "Robert told Hightower that I was investigating Patrick's death and that he wasn't sure what I might find. When we were at Downton, he said I should be prepared for the likelihood that we would never learn who Patrick's killer was. He was almost resigned to the fact we would never find out."

"Yes, he said much the same to me," she nodded, recalling her conversation with her father. She thought he was rather despondent at the time.

"But Robert must know all that Hightower knows about Carlisle's involvement, as well as the connection between the Albanians and Green, which means he must know more about Patrick's death than he's let on," he explained.

Mary blinked.

"Wait," she said incredulously. "You're not suggesting that Papa had anything to do with…"

"I don't know what I'm suggesting," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm still in shock at this discovery. All I know is that, at best, Robert is monitoring Carlisle for his own reasons and has deliberately kept us in the dark about it."

"And at worst?" she whispered.

"At worst…" he struggled. "At worst, your father had something to do with Patrick's death, and has permitted surveillance of your sisters, Anna and Alex and my mother without intervention, and is allowing the Albanians to plot an attack against me that he may or may not allow to occur."

"You could have kept this information to yourself," she said carefully. "For all you know, Papa may have already told me all of this. I may be in on it all, and part of the conspiracy to keep you in the dark."

"In theory, yes," he nodded.

"Then why risk it?" she asked. "Is this a test of my loyalty? Are you asking me to choose a side?"

"No, I would never ask you to choose between me and your family," he said quietly. "I'm telling you what I found out tonight because of something you told me once."

She frowned in confusion.

"You said something along the lines of 'we can try and have a good day together, and another, and another after that, until I trust you enough to stop looking over my shoulder for something to go wrong'" he said.

She exhaled a ragged breath.

"I'm trusting you with this, because I love you," he said. "And if we're going to have any chance for a future together, then I can't keep this from you, no matter the consequences."

She watched him, not saying anything.

"And whatever plot Robert is up to," he said. "You may not be safe either, and so, even if you aren't sure where you stand with him, you know where you stand with me."

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

"I wish I could tell you that you're wrong about Papa, but I honestly don't know whether you are or not," she muttered.

"We can find out together," he said firmly, taking another step towards her.

"Together…and if what we find out pits you against him in some way, what will you do then?" she asked, moving towards him.

"Whatever I think is right," he said, his tone hard. "And you'll have to do the same – decide what you think is right."

She stepped towards him, looking down at their feet.

"Papa said you were impossible to control," she said.

"I seem to have disappointed him in that regard, yes," he answered. "Perhaps he expected me to fall in line when he summoned me here, and now he's having buyer's remorse."

"I can't begin to think what you could have done to anger him," she said, looking up at him.

"Besides taking your side against him?" he remarked.

"That would be enough to lower your image in his eyes," she nodded.

"So be it," he said softly.

"I'm scared, Matthew," she whispered, running her hands up his chest to his shoulders. "I'm scared of what we might find out."

"I know," he nodded, taking hold of her waist. "But we'll get through it, I promise."

Mary came into his arms and hugged him, closing her eyes as his hand came up and stroked the nape of her neck. They held on to each other, neither trying to step back, neither trying to move away, as though they were bracing for a gathering storm that neither had anticipated.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"Thank you, Carson," Cora smiled, nodding to the butler. "That will be all for this evening. I expect that we will be retiring shortly."

"Very good, my Lady," Carson bowed his head and left the room.

"Papa seemed rather subdued tonight," Edith noted, sipping her drink.

"Your Papa has been rather busy as of late," Cora sighed. "You know he usually gets more and more occupied with business as the Season gets closer. He uses the time in London to take meetings and so on, and he always wants to have everything in order before we go down."

"Speaking of the Season, have you decided on what we'll be doing?" Sybil asked. "I really don't want to be paraded around to an endless string of boring parties if it can be helped."

"Don't be so dramatic, Sybil dear," Cora frowned. "It's Isobel's first Season with us for ages. We need to make a good impression upon her if we want her to stay here."

"Wimbledon will be enough for Isobel," Edith smiled. "She just wants to spend more time with Matthew and she's happy enough."

"Well, hopefully she will have another reason to remain by the time Summer arrives," Cora smiled.

"Mama," Sybil frowned. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Cora grinned. "I would just think that she would want to be close to her only son as he prepares for his wedding."

"Mama, please," Edith rolled her eyes. "Don't you think you're taking this too far? Mary and Matthew are happy, yes, but it's been barely six months."

"Oh, I know that," Cora scoffed. "It's just that your Papa and I would like to see both of them settled sooner rather than later, and it would all just be so neat and tidy."

"Tidyish…" Sybil countered. "Even if somehow Mary and Matthew were to become engaged in the next while, they're not going to settle down and have children fast enough to satisfy you. They both enjoy working too much, and they're quite busy."

"Exactly," Edith agreed. "The expansion is going to be ramping up over the Summer. They'll both have very full plates."

"Be that as it may," Cora said. "Your Papa is going to have a chat with Matthew and give him some encouragement. Hopefully it leads to something. Your Papa can be quite convincing, you know."

"Well, I suppose that Matthew would not take much convincing where Mary is concerned," Sybil admitted.

"Exactly," Cora smiled. "And once Mary and Matthew are engaged, there will be a wedding to plan, which will keep Isobel here."

"And give the two of you and Granny plenty to argue about," Edith smiled.

"We don't argue," Cora frowned. "We have very mature and reasonable discussions."

"Until one of you decides to unleash the dogs of war," Sybil smirked.

Edith laughed.

"Enough!" Cora said firmly. "I expect the two of you to speak to Mary."

"About what?" Edith laughed incredulously. "If we tell her she should marry Matthew, she'll be against the idea just to be stubborn."

"No, not about that. Leave that to me," Cora said. "I think the two of you need to speak to her about the fact that she works far too much and needs to properly prioritize what's important in her life."

"You want her out of the office and would rather she be home barefoot and pregnant," Sybil rolled her eyes.

"That's not true!" Cora snapped. "I just don't want her to put off a chance at happiness because she's so obsessed with her job."

"And what about Matthew? Will Papa tell him that he shouldn't work so much either?" Sybil demanded.

"As a matter of fact, he will," Cora said, taking great satisfaction in Sybil's look of shock. "Your Papa thinks that both Mary and Matthew may have taken on too much with this entire expansion idea. He says the company is running smoothly and they shouldn't let their ambitions dominate their lives so much. I should think the two of you would not be against that idea. Do you want Mary to spend her next years working herself to the bone or enjoying life with a family of her own?"

"While Matthew's money helps ensure the future of our family," Sybil sighed.

"Well, I see no reason why we all can't benefit from their happiness," Cora nodded. "It's a win-win all around."

Sybil and Edith shared an exasperated look, then rose from their seats and followed Cora out of the sitting room and towards the stairs to their bedrooms.

"Sounds like Mama and Papa are determined to make this a Season to remember," Edith smiled as they went upstairs.

"For Mary and Matthew, at least," Sybil shook her head. "I'm just relieved that we're going back to London tomorrow."


	23. Chapter 23

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

"Enough!" Cora said firmly. "I expect the two of you to speak to Mary."

"About what?" Edith laughed incredulously. "If we tell her she should marry Matthew, she'll be against the idea just to be stubborn."

"No, not about that. Leave that to me," Cora said. "I think the two of you need to speak to her about the fact that she works far too much and needs to properly prioritize what's important in her life."

"You want her out of the office and would rather she be home barefoot and pregnant," Sybil rolled her eyes.

"That's not true!" Cora snapped. "I just don't want her to put off a chance at happiness because she's so obsessed with her job."

"And what about Matthew? Will Papa tell him that he shouldn't work so much either?" Sybil demanded.

"As a matter of fact, he will," Cora said, taking great satisfaction in Sybil's look of shock. "Your Papa thinks that both Mary and Matthew may have taken on too much with this entire expansion idea. He says the company is running smoothly and they shouldn't let their ambitions dominate their lives so much. I should think the two of you would not be against that idea. Do you want Mary to spend her next years working herself to the bone or enjoying life with a family of her own?"

"While Matthew's money helps ensure the future of our family," Sybil sighed.

"Well, I see no reason why we all can't benefit from their happiness," Cora nodded. "It's a win-win all around."

Sybil and Edith shared an exasperated look, then rose from their seats and followed Cora out of the sitting room and towards the stairs to their bedrooms.

"Sounds like Mama and Papa are determined to make this a Season to remember," Edith smiled as they went upstairs.

"For Mary and Matthew, at least," Sybil shook her head. "I'm just relieved that we're going back to London tomorrow."

 **Chapter 23:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2015**

The alarm on her phone went off and Mary slowly opened her eyes. She sat up and stretched her arms, allowing the song to keep playing as she woke up. Letting out a long breath, she turned her head and frowned. Matthew's side of the bed was empty.

Seeing that there was neither light nor the sound of running water coming from her ensuite bathroom, she got out of bed and poured herself into her robe, tying the sash and sliding her feet into her slippers before she headed out into the hall.

With Edith and Sybil still in Yorkshire, she and Matthew had the entire house to themselves, save the servants' quarters in the basement. Matthew's early morning absence was strange. She always woke up before he did.

A smile crept across her lips as she checked each of the upstairs rooms. It was strange how used to him she was now, how she found it wrong that she woke up without him next to her. Sybil was the romantic in the family, not her. Sybil always prattled on about 'the moment me became we' and 'a single soul inhabiting two bodies' and other such drivel. Mary was thankful her sisters were not here to see her searching the house for her boyfriend as though she couldn't stand to be apart from him for even a moment.

' _You may need him more than you realize'_

Her Mama's voice echoed in her head as she made the turn at the end of the hall and walked quietly along the gallery. Mary never contemplated the idea of marriage before. It was something vague and far off in the future. She would get married eventually, obviously. Everyone did. But as to who her husband would be or the life they would have, she could not spare even a second to think about it, not when she was singularly focused on herself, on pursuing her ambitions and career goals.

Much to her shock, she'd recently spent far more than a few seconds thinking about the future.

Matthew's discovery of the secret conversation between her Papa and Cyril Hightower was a game changer, a shockwave that might have sweeping repercussions. She feared what was coming, a sense of dread weighing on her last night as she tried to think what this revelation could mean. There were hard questions she would have to ask about her family, about the company, about what tie this could have with Patrick's death.

But she didn't have any questions about Matthew. He had said they would work through this together and she believed him. She didn't have blind faith, trusting in his words simply because they sounded good. She wasn't ignorant, choosing to accept what he said, rather than think about it herself. No, she agreed with him that they would remain united because she believed it too, trusted in what they had, even before he told her the same.

She eventually found him in the room on the other side of the house that served as a combination small library and her father's home office when he was in London. Matthew was sitting on the window seat, his head leaning against the glass, hair uncombed, knees bent in front of him, his mobile balanced in his hand. He hadn't bothered to put on his robe, and as Mary stepped into the room, she heard the droning noise of her Papa's captured telephone conversation playing from his phone.

" _He is…be quite impossible to control."_

"Matthew?" she called softly.

He tapped his phone screen and ended the playback. Turning his head away from the window, he looked over at her and smiled wanly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Just reminiscing," he said sadly. He held out his hand to her. "Come here."

She smiled as she padded over and took a seat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as his arm came around her and held her close.

"You know, I used to come in here when we were children," he said, his voice heavy and quiet. "I would grab a book and sit here and look out at the street and all the expensive houses and imagine what it would be like to live here, as though this place were my own."

"You did?" she asked softly. "I always thought you found our lot too snobby and entitled for your taste."

"I did, a little, at first," he stated. "But I still liked to think about living in London, running an empire, building something for myself."

"Rather than inherit it," she said.

"Yes," he nodded. "I always liked that idea – earning a position, rather than being given it. I know that all of you are very hard working and didn't come by any of this easily, but I always took some pride in the fact that I wasn't part of the Downton line of Crawleys. It made me think that everything I had was due to my own merit, and nothing else."

"It still is, Matthew," she said easily. "Your operation is entirely your own. You built it. Papa brought you here to save us, to resurrect Patrick's division, because he knew what you were capable of. Your last name had nothing to do with it."

"That's what I thought as well, until I heard this," he sighed, holding up his mobile. "Now I don't know what to believe. I don't know how far back all of this goes with your father, exactly what was he scheming and how long was he at it?"

"You think that Papa called you here for an ulterior purpose?" she frowned, lifting her head and looking at him.

"He says that I'm 'impossible to control'," he noted, staring blankly at his phone and not making eye contact with her. "That suggests that he thought he could control me in the beginning; that he had a plan for me, and now that plan has been thrown off somehow. I wasn't called here because he thought I was the right man for the job, Mary. He called me here because he saw me as a puppet, someone to play a role in his larger plan."

"Oh, Matthew, we don't know that," she shook her head. "Papa and Mama, they…well, they do think it would be rather neat and tidy if you were to pledge your future to the company. It's the natural progression of how they viewed you when we were younger. I told you how they thought you would fit in well with us. With you in the fold, they can profit from your gambling websites more easily, integrate your money into the company, and they trust you infinitely more than they did Patrick, probably even more than they trust me. I doubt that there's anything more to it than that."

He turned and looked at her, nodding slowly.

"That's just it though, darling," he whispered. "Robert either wanted me for my money or because he didn't think I was as much a rebel as Patrick. He didn't want me for me. He just needed me to fill a position."

"I want you for you," she said firmly, reaching out and cupping his cheek. "Why exactly you were brought here isn't important. You're here now."

He sighed, reaching up and caressing her hand against his face. "You're right, of course," he said. "I guess it's just hitting me now that there doesn't appear to be a plausible scenario that doesn't end with me and Robert butting heads."

"You don't know that," she implored him. "All we have is a telephone conversation. We don't know what else Papa has done, if anything at all. There's nothing to tie him with Patrick's death, no motive. We don't have any evidence that he's gone against you, the family or the code. It might all work out in the end, still."

Matthew smiled resignedly. "You think that it's pure coincidence that Robert just happened to put a double agent into the organization of the man who tried to have me killed, and that he didn't feel there was any need to tell us about it, do you?"

"It's…possible," she shrugged weakly.

"But unlikely," he said. "We both agree that, in our world, there's no such thing as coincidences."

Mary looked down at his bare chest, then back up at his eyes.

"Come on, darling," she said. "We need to get ready for work."

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, May 2015**

Anna sighed and took deep breaths, pushing the duvet away from her warm skin. Her hands massaged Alex's shoulders as he kissed his way up her body, pausing for a moment at her bare breasts, then at her neck and throat for another, before kissing her lips and rolling off of her.

"Yes," she nodded, smiling lazily at him. "That's exactly what I meant."

"I'm glad to be of service," he laughed, running his fingers along her bare arm. "I hope it was all right. You didn't give me a chance to shave first."

"It was more than all right," she grinned. "And I didn't notice your stubble at all."

"How much longer do we have?" he asked, lacing their fingers together and drawing her hand towards him.

"No time at all, I'm afraid," she shook her head. "I want to get in before Mary so we can show her and Mr. Crawley what we found out last night. They'll have a better idea of what Mr. Patrick was up to, I know it."

"I'm not so sure," he said. "Patrick was probably more of an enigma to them than he was to you. But, they might come up with some theories that we haven't, and we do need to report, regardless."

"All right," she smiled, slapping his chest playfully. "Let's get going."

"Hang on," he smiled. "There's two things that I want to talk to you about first."

"Oh?" she replied in surprise. "What's the first one?"

"I want to go away somewhere with you, take a trip," he smiled.

"A trip?" she blinked.

"Yes, a trip," he nodded. "Just the two of us, and not to Brighton to see your mum."

She laughed, a delightful shiver ran down her spine at the thought. "And where would we go?"

"Anywhere you like," he said. "I just want to go somewhere and explore, and eat, and shop, just you and me."

"That sounds incredible. It's been years since I took a proper vacation, actually," she grinned. "Although, we probably can't go until after the Season is over."

"Whenever," he shrugged. "Just think about it and block off the time as soon as you can."

"I will," she nodded. "What was the second thing?"

"Ah," he said, blushing slightly. "Well, I have a bit of problem as a result of what you just had me do."

Anna smiled as she glanced down at the duvet covering him.

"Sorry, babes, but we really do need to get going," she said.

He rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed.

"I will definitely make it up to you tonight," she promised, kissing his cheek as she got out of bed.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames House, Millbank, London, England, May 2015**

Charles Blake took a side entrance to leave the government building and walked briskly towards St. John's Gardens. Passing an apartment building and a row of commuter bicycles for rent on the south side of the park, he opened the rear passenger door of a black Rolls Royce parked at the kerb and slipped inside.

"Charles, thank you for meeting with me," Tony said, reaching over and shaking his hand.

"No, thank you, Tony," Charles nodded. "We've gone over everything you mentioned and I think we're close to having enough to get the warrant that we want."

"Good," Tony sighed. "Then dare I hope this will all be over soon?"

"Very soon," Charles confirmed. "I'll be presenting a plan to my superiors later this week. The question now is timing. We obviously want to strike when it will have the maximum effect. This is going to be big. The press will be all over it and we want as much exposure as possible, to send a message to anyone else who thinks they can get away with this type of behaviour."

"Of course," Tony nodded. "Well, the best time to carry out the warrant would be during the upcoming Season. Everyone comes into the city. He'll be attending events, showing off, meeting with his contacts. You'll scare the hell out a lot of people if you nab him then."

"Including some who may be accomplices or engaging in the same illegal activity. That's perfect," Charles smiled. "I'll put that into my report and run it by the higher-ups."

"Right," Tony nodded nervously. "Well, try and give me some lead time, please. I'll need to either make sure I don't attend whichever event you plan to use, or appear sufficiently shocked when you get him."

"I'll give you at least 12 hours' notice," Charles said. "Just carry on as normal. We don't know who will be watching, so your absence may seem conspicuous to anyone who goes back and tries to piece it all together after the fact."

"You're right," Tony swallowed. "I'll just let Mabel plan our schedule and follow along as usual."

"Good," Charles said. "You're doing the right thing, Tony. Just another month or two, and you'll be free of all this, and no one will know you were involved. I promise."

"God, I hope so," Tony said, shaking Charles' hand. "The sooner this is over, the better. I just want to put it all behind me and move on. Good morning, Charles."

"Good morning, Tony," Charles nodded, releasing his hand and getting out of the car.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, May 2015**

"Let's keep the telephone conversation a secret for now," Mary said quietly as they walked into the casino. "William won't have fixed the audio the way you did, so he won't know. There's no need to tell anyone else yet."

"Surely you don't suspect Anna can't be trusted?" Matthew frowned.

"Of course she can be trusted," she said, squeezing his hand as he pressed the button for the elevator. "However, everyone here is technically an employee of Papa's. The more people who know about what we know, the more dangerous it could become. I want to control how and when we use this information, so we need to keep it between us only."

"All right," he nodded as they stepped into the lift. "I won't tell Alex…for now."

They were greeted by Anna and Alex as they came off the elevator. Mary released Matthew's hand and nodded as her assistant fell into step with her.

"Alex and I found something last night in Mr. Patrick's computer files," Anna said. "We can't make much sense of it, but we were hoping you and Mr. Matthew might be able to."

"All right," Mary nodded, glancing over at Matthew briefly. "What is it?"

"Anna suspects that the financial statements that we found on the USB drive weren't merely to deter anyone from snooping around further," Alex said, passing a set of papers to each of Mary and Matthew. "And I agree with her theory."

"Well, Anna," Matthew said as they all went into Mary's office. "Let's hear your theory."

Mary sat down behind her desk and Matthew stood next to her, both of them turning the pages of the statements given to them.

Anna looked over at Alex.

Alex nodded to her.

"Right. Well, most of the financials are copies of audited statements for the company and its divisions," Anna said. "None of it is particularly extraordinary, or would have been difficult for Mr. Patrick to obtain. There's other statements though, which we've highlighted for you, that are rather out of place."

"This is a portfolio listing," Mary frowned, looking at the page flagged with yellow highlighter.

"And we don't think it's Mr. Patrick's personal portfolio," Anna said. "I couldn't recognize them as shares that the company traditionally holds, not to mention the dates on some of the transactions on the next page are a bit peculiar."

"It's a rather active account," Matthew nodded. "I thought the Crawley Group strategy was to hold long term investments?"

"It is," Mary nodded. "Clearly this isn't a company account, so the question is who's account is it and why did Patrick have this information?"

"There's nothing else on the drive that relates to this, as far as we can tell," Alex said. "I've begun going back over what we found on his phone and his laptop to see if anything we found before can be cross referenced back, but so far, nothing."

"Another dead end, then," Mary sighed, pushing the papers away from her.

"You don't recognize any of this?" Anna asked.

"No," Mary shook her head. "To be honest, I've never been one for the stock market. I've always kept my money in gold and land."

"Good work, in any event," Matthew nodded to Anna and Alex. "Now, let's try and get on with our day. Though this investigation is ongoing, we still have real jobs that require our attention. Mary and I need to go examine the expansion site before heading to a meeting with Murray about the appeal."

"Yes," Mary agreed. "Thank you, both."

Alex and Anna nodded and left to go back to their offices.

Matthew waited for them to pass out of sight before he took the set of papers, folded them up and placed them in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes," he whispered as he walked around Mary's desk. "We can go back to the hotel to properly look at this."

"Make it ten," she replied, putting her copy of the papers into her bag.

 **Bitexco Financial Tower, 38** **th** **Floor, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, May 2015**

"Hello, darling," Rose smiled, adjusting her headset as she looked at the call display on her mobile. "How are you?"

"Cranky," Sybil complained. "I'm waiting for Edith to finish packing so we can head out. If I stay another minute here, I'll go mad."

"Your texts last night were rather colourful," Rose laughed. "It wasn't so bad, surely?"

"No, it wasn't," Sybil sighed. "But I've come to realize that without Mary around to take up all of Mama's attention, it can be rather uncomfortable here. Every silence in a conversation feels as though I'm being watched and gone over."

"You probably are," Rose nodded. "I wouldn't put it past Cousin Cora to have a livestream channel to show you off to potential husbands."

"That's not even a little bit funny," Sybil groaned. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know that Papa wants you to come to London next month for the Season."

"Me?" Rose frowned. "Whatever for?"

"Who cares?" Sybil laughed. "Does it matter? He said something about wanting to gather the family together and how he hasn't seen you in ages."

"He hasn't seen me in ages because he didn't want to," Rose scoffed. "He's partly to blame for why I've been exiled here for the past years."

"I thought you liked it over there?" Sybil stated.

"I do," Rose nodded, glancing out her office window to where Jack was holding a team meeting in front of the cubicles. "But it isn't London."

"All the more reason for you to come back!" Sybil said cheerfully. "Please, Rose? I miss you."

"God, don't start," Rose groaned, turning back to her computer monitors. "You know I can't deny you anything when you use that voice and make that face of yours."

"Well, I'm making it," Sybil said smugly. "I'll email you your itinerary."

"Fine," Rose sighed. "But you must promise to protect me against your parents. If this is just an elaborate scheme to get me back there to talk about the life choices I've made and suggest how I can get back on track, I'm going to punch your father in the nose."

"I would love to see that!" Sybil laughed. "Don't worry, I'll be right next to you, and Matthew will protect you, you know that."

"I know he'll want to, but who knows what your sister has in store for him? He may be too occupied to spend time with us," Rose said drily.

"Don't be mean," Sybil huffed. "You should see them together. They're adorable."

"I'm sure they are," Rose grumbled. "I just hope she treats him right."

"She does," Sybil smiled. "It's easily the most besotted I've ever seen her."

"Lady Mary Crawley besotted? With another person?" Rose asked jokingly.

"Yes," Sybil retorted. "Now, are you going to bring Jack along? You really should!"

"Oh yeah, that'll go over brilliantly," Rose rolled her eyes. "Though it might be worth it just to see the look on Aunt Violet's face. Anyway, I don't think he's ready to meet the family just yet, and I'm probably not ready for that yet either."

"All right. If that's what you want," Sybil said.

"It is," Rose nodded. "I also want to stay in my old room at Grantham House. Can you have it made up?"

"For sure!" Sybil said. "But I thought you would stay with James or Annabelle?"

"James and his wife are spending the summer in Spain," Rose said. "And Annabelle's not coming back. I actually need to thank her for keeping Mummy and Daddy busy so they won't be there either."

"Perfect! It'll be like back in the day!" Sybil laughed. "All right, I'll send you the flight information and text you when I get back to London."

"Lovely. Bye, darling. See you next month!" Rose said, hanging up the call.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, May 2015**

Matthew frowned as he scrolled through the portfolio list again. The moment they had come back to the suite, he connected Mary's laptop to her office computer and logged into his office from his laptop. He had scanned the papers before they left Crockfords, allowing them to review the information on their screens as they did their online research. They had set up shop at the dining table, the privacy of the hotel suite allowing them to look into and discuss the information uncovered by Anna and Alex without anyone seeing them or overhearing them.

Neither he nor Mary knew exactly what they were looking at, or what they were looking for, but they both knew that Anna and Alex had found something significant. It was obvious that the transactions were not Patrick's. The volume of shares and amounts spent were well beyond his means. If the investments were linked to Crawley Group in any way, they didn't want Anna and Alex to know that just yet. All of Crawley Group's investments were controlled by Robert and his advisors. In light of last night's new information about the Earl of Grantham, anything involving the company had to be dealt with carefully.

"All right," Mary sighed. "Patrick had this information. It's not important for now how he got it. What was he intending to do with it?"

"Use it against whoever's account this is, I presume," Matthew said. "Otherwise, why go to the trouble of saving it to a USB drive that he hid in the toilet? What I don't understand is what's so nefarious about this information? These are all legitimate holdings. There's nothing improper or illegal about them."

"Perhaps it's in the fact that the account holder has them," she said. "If Patrick discovered that these transactions were improper, then this is evidence that they occurred, which would be harmful to the account holder."

"Possibly," he nodded. "Perhaps the account holder had insider information. Let's see if the transaction dates coincide with any big announcements. I'll take the top half. You take the bottom."

"All right," she nodded, smiling as she began typing away.

"What?" he asked, looking at her. "You're smiling."

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, still smiling as she worked away. "You just seem to prefer being on top, is all."

He frowned, then smiled.

"I seem to recall that you don't mind being on top either," he teased. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say you enjoy it enormously."

She blushed and shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his reply.

They carried on for an hour in silence, the only sound the clacking of their keyboards as they checked dates, searched for news on the companies and commodities in question, and reviewed price histories for the shares and holdings in the mystery portfolio.

"I'm done," Mary said finally, pulling away from the keyboard and leaning back in her chair.

Matthew kept on working.

After a few minutes, she glanced over at him again.

"Matthew?" she asked. "I'm finished with mine."

"Mmm hmm," he replied.

"Are you close to being done with yours?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow.

"Almost," he said, frowning at his monitor.

"And just how long is almost?" she asked.

"Longer than it would be if you weren't asking me pointless questions," he retorted.

"God, you're so slow it's ridiculous," she complained. "Your list was shorter than mine."

"And your patience has obviously improved, darling," he smirked. He hit the last few keys firmly, then spun his computer around so she could see the screen.

"All right, what have you got?" he asked.

"Nothing overly suspicious," she sighed. "In fact, whoever this account holder is doesn't appear to be a very good investor, actually. The shares are never held for very long, and are usually sold after a small gain or a slight loss. There's a few risky buys, usually based on some rumour or gossip that was going around at the time, but it often amounts to nothing."

"Mine are about the same," he nodded. "There's even some shares that are bought and sold in the same day. There's rarely a windfall, and in some cases the losses are rather substantial. I did find something rather curious though."

She watched as he switched to another application window, showing certain transactions highlighted in bright red.

"These are oil futures contracts purchased in July of 2005," he explained. "They're sold a week later, at a substantial profit since the price for oil fell sharply in that short period of time."

"So someone bet on the price of oil dropping, and when it did, they cashed in," she nodded.

"Exactly," he nodded, bringing up a browser window showing the cover of an issue of the _Financial Times_. "The peculiar thing is, that all indications were that oil was going to sharply rise. Back in July 2005, there was a highly publicized article in the _Financial Times_ about how there was not enough production in the Middle East to meet the West's projected demand for oil within 10-15 years. Oil prices should have kept rising on fears of insufficient supply and reactions to instability in the Middle East. In fact, oil prices did go up after these transactions were made, but the price then dropped sharply."

"What happened to cause the drop?" she asked.

Matthew looked at her seriously. "July 7 happened," he said.

Mary blinked in surprise. "The London bombings?" she asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "The London bombings took place two days after these oil futures contracts were purchased. The oil price went up for the next three days, then dropped, some think because demand for oil lessened due to fewer people traveling for the rest of the quarter after the attacks."

"But shouldn't the bombings have caused the oil prices to go higher?" she asked. "At the time, people assumed it was an al-Qaeda terror attack."

"That's right," he nodded. "However, the market by this time had already grown used to responding to a major terror attack, and investors would have remembered what happened to the oil price the last time there was a similar incident."

"9/11," she said.

"Yes," he said grimly. "Following the attacks in New York, travel in the United States in particular dropped precipitously. The oil price, after going up immediately following 9/11, dropped as demand for jet fuel and the like fell."

"What are you saying?" she asked. "You think our mystery account holder anticipated the July 7 bombings in advance and aligned his portfolio to profit from the market's reaction to it?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he nodded. "The buy volume is massive. Millions of pounds involved. Why make such a huge bet in the face of the oil price rising? Further, why sell so soon after? If the investor was banking on a drop in oil prices, how did he know that the price would fall in that particular week?"

"But how? How would an investor know about the bombings before they happen?" she asked.

"Because he helped plan them," he nodded.

She gasped in shock.

He continued. "It's too neat to be a mere coincidence, or a lucky bet. The dates are too close together and, more importantly, there's no history of purchasing oil futures contracts prior to this date, or at any time afterward. This investor just happened to feel the urge to invest in oil days before a major terrorist attack on one of the largest financial capitals in the world."

"And years later, Patrick found out about it somehow," she said.

"He did," he replied. "And I think he took this information to the investor, confronted him with it, and, in return for his silence, Patrick asked for something – money, probably. The investor said something to stall him, and while Patrick was waiting, Green delivered the tainted drugs that killed him, effectively killing the investor's secret with him."

"All clean and tidy," she nodded.

"If we're right about this," he said, pointing at his computer screen. "This information was absolutely fatal to whoever the investor is. Not only would the person be arrested and thrown in jail, but his name would be ruined, forever associated with terrorism."

"And if the investor was English, that would be even worse. He would be branded a traitor," she said.

"I just don't know who the investor is, and how Patrick came about this information," he sighed, shaking his head. "But I think if we find that out, we find his killer."

Mary frowned, then turned back to her computer, typing away furiously.

"Mary?" he asked in concern.

"Shh," she said. "One moment."

Matthew waited patiently as she opened a new browser window and carried out her searches. Finally, she stared at the screen for a moment and her eyes went wide, her hand going up to cover her open mouth.

"Mary?" he said, reaching out and taking her hand. "What is it?"

"I was looking through the data we compiled from the investigation," she mumbled. "If Patrick did confront his killer over these investments, it must have occurred in the days before his death. He wouldn't wait very long for an answer, if he did give the investor an ultimatum."

"That does follow, yes," he nodded.

"Matthew," she said shakily. "Patrick was gone for days, over a week before we discovered his body. We called him but he didn't answer. Based on the call log from his mobile, he didn't place many calls in the week before his death. There's the expected call to Green, another to that prostitute, Parks, his conversation with Larry that you found out about, and a few others."

"To who?" he asked carefully.

Mary sighed and turned her computer around so he could see the screen.

"He called Papa four times," she whispered.

* * *

Matthew held the beautifully decorated tea pot with one hand and refilled Mary's cup. He put the tea pot back down and put his arm back around her shoulders, holding her as she sipped her tea.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"All right, I guess," she mumbled. "I keep hoping that you'll tell me I was wrong, that you found out something that will make my theory implausible."

"Would it help if I told you I can't really believe it? That it doesn't seem possible?" he asked.

"No, it wouldn't," she said sadly. "I can't believe it either, but that doesn't change the fact that it's entirely possible."

"How do you think Patrick found out?" he asked.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "Maybe he had access to Papa's personal portfolio somehow. Maybe he saw an account statement lying around and decided to look into it when he realized it wasn't a company account. Maybe Papa and Cousin James were in on it together and James told Patrick about it before he died. Does it matter?"

"No, it doesn't," he admitted. "I guess I'm just trying to understand."

"Don't bother," she said bitterly. "There's nothing to understand. Papa had Patrick killed because Patrick threatened to reveal his scandal. Patrick didn't need more money. He probably wasn't overly fussed about whether he would inherit the Earldom and the presidency of the company one day. So, he asked Papa, blackmailed him, to give him the one thing he wanted the most."

"His freedom," he said.

"He wanted out, just like Ethel Parks told Anna," she nodded. "Whether he was tired, or disillusioned, or just lazy, who knows? Whatever he asked for, Papa wasn't prepared to give it to him, and he wasn't prepared to allow someone to live on with the power to destroy him. So, he eliminated the problem."

"By having his own cousin killed," he shook his head.

"What a happy family we are," she said softly.

"There's something missing, though," he said. "How did Robert convince Green to send the drugs to Patrick? There was no video footage of Robert or Cyril Hightower going to the nightclub to speak to Green in the days leading up to Patrick's death. All we know is that the Albanians were there. And if Robert hired the Albanians directly, why does he still need Cyril Hightower now to pass along his instructions?"

"I don't know," she said. "It's bad enough that the theory of Papa having Patrick killed sounds entirely reasonable, I don't know if these precise details even matter in the grand scheme of things."

"They matter, Mary," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I won't confront Robert without having all the available information first. We're only going to get one crack at this. I won't condemn Robert unless we're sure beyond a reasonable doubt."

She put her tea cup and saucer down on the coffee table and turned to look at him directly, her eyes tired and forlorn.

"Do you honestly believe that there's a chance that he didn't do it?" she asked.

"I want to believe there is," he nodded.

He pulled her closer and she settled against him, holding on to him as he ran his hand up and down her back.


	24. Chapter 24

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

Matthew held the beautifully decorated tea pot with one hand and refilled Mary's cup. He put the tea pot back down and put his arm back around her shoulders, holding her as she sipped her tea.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"All right, I guess," she mumbled. "I keep hoping that you'll tell me I was wrong, that you found out something that will make my theory implausible."

"Would it help if I told you I can't really believe it? That it doesn't seem possible?" he asked.

"No, it wouldn't," she said sadly. "I can't believe it either, but that doesn't change the fact that it's entirely possible."

"How do you think Patrick found out?" he asked.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "Maybe he had access to Papa's personal portfolio somehow. Maybe he saw an account statement lying around and decided to look into it when he realized it wasn't a company account. Maybe Papa and Cousin James were in on it together and James told Patrick about it before he died. Does it matter?"

"No, it doesn't," he admitted. "I guess I'm just trying to understand."

"Don't bother," she said bitterly. "There's nothing to understand. Papa had Patrick killed because Patrick threatened to reveal his scandal. Patrick didn't need more money. He probably wasn't overly fussed about whether he would inherit the Earldom and the presidency of the company one day. So, he asked Papa, blackmailed him, to give him the one thing he wanted the most."

"His freedom," he said.

"He wanted out, just like Ethel Parks told Anna," she nodded. "Whether he was tired, or disillusioned, or just lazy, who knows? Whatever he asked for, Papa wasn't prepared to give it to him, and he wasn't prepared to allow someone to live on with the power to destroy him. So, he eliminated the problem."

"By having his own cousin killed," he shook his head.

"What a happy family we are," she said softly.

"There's something missing, though," he said. "How did Robert convince Green to send the drugs to Patrick? There was no video footage of Robert or Cyril Hightower going to the nightclub to speak to Green in the days leading up to Patrick's death. All we know is that the Albanians were there. And if Robert hired the Albanians directly, why does he still need Cyril Hightower now to pass along his instructions?"

"I don't know," she said. "It's bad enough that the theory of Papa having Patrick killed sounds entirely reasonable, I don't know if these precise details even matter in the grand scheme of things."

"They matter, Mary," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I won't confront Robert without having all the available information first. We're only going to get one crack at this. I won't condemn Robert unless we're sure beyond a reasonable doubt."

She put her tea cup and saucer down on the coffee table and turned to look at him directly, her eyes tired and forlorn.

"Do you honestly believe that there's a chance that he didn't do it?" she asked.

"I want to believe there is," he nodded.

He pulled her closer and she settled against him, holding on to him as he ran his hand up and down her back.

 **Chapter 24:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, May 2015**

"Where's Mr. Crawley?" Anna asked.

"We were stuck in with Murray for longer than we expected," Mary said, looking down at her tablet screen as she walked into her office. "He dropped me off and went to Maxims. He's doing a tour of all the properties today."

"I see," Anna nodded, following in behind. "Well, here's the cash reports from last night, as well as the weekly. Charts have been saved to the directory." She placed the paper reports on Mary's desk.

"Thank you, Anna," Mary said, sitting down and setting her tablet aside. She moved the mouse and turned towards her computer monitors. "Clear my schedule for this evening, please. I think I'll be leaving early. I have a touch of a headache."

"Will do," Anna said. She paused before turning to leave. "Is there anything else?"

"No," Mary said lightly, still not looking at her. "I've got these reports to go over, I've had plenty of coffee already, and I don't need to meet with Edith since she's just coming back to London now. Everything's fine."

"All right," Anna said carefully. "You just seem a bit…distracted, is all."

"Just a lot on my mind," Mary said, finally looking over at Anna and giving her a smile. "You know how I get focused on certain things. I have a hard time letting them go."

"You're worried about the appeal," Anna stated.

"Yes, exactly," Mary nodded. "The appeal."

"Well, I'm sure it'll all come good in the end," Anna nodded. "You won the first time around, so you should be confident."

"Oh, Anna," Mary said ruefully. "Don't you know? All that matters is what one does in the here and now. But, thank you. I can always use some optimism."

Anna smiled and nodded. She turned and left Mary's office, going back to her own.

Mary glanced over at the doorway, then back at her computer monitors. She frowned, letting out a long sigh as the numbers came up on the screens. After staring at them for several minutes, she shook her head and opened another browser window. The problem with having a theory was that it was sometimes too easy to see what one wanted to see, rather than what was actually real. It was now less than two hours since she and Matthew had discovered her Papa's possible involvement in not only Patrick's death, but perhaps in the 7/7 bombings as well, and she felt adrift, her mind scrambled and disorganized, as though she were waiting for something to explain it all, or make her forget. She brought up the company's financial statements and ledgers dating back to 2005 on her screens, swallowing nervously as she began to search.

She always knew her father was capable of almost anything in the name of the family and to protect the company. Growing up, she had heard more times than she could count his speech about how they were all caretakers – tasked with preserving the legacy passed on to them by their predecessors. While Mary was always of the view that a successful company was the best way to honour the Crawley name and the House of Grantham, her Papa was far more traditional. He kept to the old businesses – gambling, construction, the leases to farmers and tenants in the Village – and bristled at any type of change. He wasn't one for promotion and marketing, always reluctant about Mary's efforts to enhance the company profile, regardless of how lucrative the results. The Earl of Grantham valued history above all else, and perhaps above anyone else.

Mary shook her head as she flipped back over the years of balance sheets and income statements. Terrorism. Murder. Her father wasn't capable of that, surely? How could he willingly have any role in suicide bombings, just to make a profit? How could he order the death of his own cousin?

She frowned as she examined the statements and ledgers for the second half of 2005. Crawley Group made large payments on its debts in the final quarter of that year, above and beyond what was normal. There could have been perfectly legitimate explanations for such payments – a corporate decision to pay down debts, for example, or a choice to make better use of revenues in that year, perhaps. Mary was in school back then. She had no idea of what her father got up to, and this was the type of thing that did not require a meeting of the Board of Directors or any special corporate resolutions. When it came to dealing with company finances, the President had absolute authority.

She shook her head as she looked at some more numbers. There were large amounts taken out of the company in 2005. It was normal for her father to withdraw money from the company regularly. The purpose of Crawley Group was to help fund the upkeep of Downton Abbey and Grantham House, as well as support the family. Large deposits and withdrawals were normal to help limit the amount of money in the company, and in turn, what the tax authorities could find and go after in the event of an audit. The amounts showing on the ledgers were much larger than normal, but that didn't mean her Papa took the money from the company to invest into oil futures, or for any nefarious purpose.

Mary leaned back in her chair, looking away from the numbers and over at the family portrait hung on the wall. They still had formal portraits taken every year, another tradition that her parents continued to follow. They would usually gather at Downton, her Aunt Rosamund and Granny included, and sit for photographs in full formal wear with the portraits of the past Earls of Grantham in the background. They never touched each other. Never smiled. It was always the same pose, every time. Granny would sit in the middle, Mary and her sisters seated on either side of her, and Aunt Rosamund, Papa and Mama would stand behind, all appearing sufficiently stoic. They resembled statues, pale, timeless and unmoving, the only difference between their family portrait and the sepia toned photos of Crawleys of the past were the different fashions and hairstyles. Mary always thought there was something aristocratic and sophisticated about it – the way that some things didn't change through the generations. Her family had endured for hundreds of years and Downton Abbey still stood, with the Crawleys still in it.

As she looked at her father's hard stare now, standing over the rest of them, she felt queasy and uncomfortable. For the first time in her life, she wasn't entirely sure who she was looking at.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, May 2015**

Since he was a child, Matthew was more of a visual learner. He always preferred shapes and diagrams to mere words and numbers. His mother claimed it was because he was more creative, more 'right-brained', and she took pride in that. It was her way of claiming some part of him, given that his father was more maths and science oriented. To this day, Matthew seemed to understand things easier if he drew them out, rather than studying a series of facts and numbers.

It was due to this preference that he often used his tablet to write out notes and draw diagrams, and why all of his office desks at the company's various casinos had a supply of legal size notepads at the ready. It was sometimes easier for him to scribble out his thoughts, rather than go to the trouble of typing them or drawing them electronically.

He frowned as he looked at the white pad in front of him. In the centre was a rectangle with Robert's name. Arrows pointed out from this box to various circles around the page, linking Patrick, the Albanians, Cyril Hightower and Carlisle back to Lord Grantham. Matthew made various notations in the margin and next to the arrows, filling in the facts that he knew, and posing questions. He sighed and put his pen down. The diagram had only served to show him in crystal clarity just how muddled the situation was.

He did not believe that Robert was capable of murder. To his knowledge, the Earl's worst transgressions were tax evasion, money laundering and some isolated incidents that could be deemed extortion. Robert had a conservative outlook. He didn't believe that there was a role for government in the private lives of its citizens. He was happy to let Parliament deal with national matters such as healthcare, defence, foreign policy and even roadworks. But he firmly believed they had no business in overly regulating commerce, or taxing the wealthy and successful. It was a far cry from not wanting to pay taxes to participating in terrorism and ordering the assassination of a family member, though. The Earl of Grantham wouldn't commit such crimes, would he?

Matthew tore the page from the notepad and wheeled his chair over to the paper shredder. As he watched his diagram reduced to ribbons, he wrestled with the possibilities in his mind. Everything was a slippery slope. Robert did not have to actually get his hands dirty to commit any of the crimes that Matthew was contemplating. He could have gotten advice from a friend of a friend who told him it might be a good idea to invest in oil futures without explaining why. Robert always loved an inside tip, the suggestion that he was getting an advantage, being made privy to exclusive information. He seldom actually checked on the veracity of such tips. If one of his rich colleagues was going along with it, that was usually enough for him. So, it was possible that Robert profited from the July 7 bombings without actually realizing it at first. Once he did, it would be too late to take anything back, and it would be no use trying to do anything about it.

But how did that explain what happened to Patrick? Clearly, he had learned about whatever Robert did in July 2005. He spoke with the Earl in the days leading up to his death. Was the younger Crawley trying to use the information as leverage to get away from Crawley Group, as Mary suspected?

And what about Carlisle? If the Albanians were the ones to coerce Green to send the tainted drugs to Patrick, Carlisle had just as much opportunity as Robert to give that order. But what was Carlisle's motive?

A familiar ringtone from Matthew's phone drew his attention away from his fragmented thoughts. He spun his chair back to his desk and grabbed his mobile.

"Rose," he said, grateful for the distraction. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks!" Rose replied cheerfully. "Have you heard?"

"Apparently not," he frowned. "Have I heard what?"

"The incredible news, of course!" she laughed. "Your favourite employee will be joining you for the Season this year."

"Well, of course I already knew that," he smirked. "I wouldn't think of going anywhere without Alex."

"Right, that's what I meant," she scoffed in annoyance. "You really think you're funny, don't you?"

"How can I not when you make it so easy for me?" he smiled. "Well, that's wonderful news. You decided to make the trip up after all? You missed us that badly, did you?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, but Sybil called me this morning and said that Lord Grantham himself decided to extend me an invitation," she said proudly.

"What?" he frowned. "Robert invited you?"

"I know, it's unbelievable, really," she said. "Something about him wanting to gather the family together. Truly, I didn't even think he thought of me as family anymore, but I suppose he wants someone from my side to be there, since Mummy and Daddy will be in America with Annabelle."

"That's…interesting," he said slowly. "I wasn't aware that this Season was a special occasion or that there was anything in particular planned that required everyone to be there."

"Well, technically, you aren't family, Matthew," Rose chuckled. "At least, not yet, anyway. I'm sure there's plenty that goes on without your knowledge."

"Yes, yes, I suppose that's right," he mumbled.

"Anyway, the important point to take away from all this is that I'm coming! I'll send you my flight information and itinerary. I'll be staying at Grantham House. I do hope that Mary will spare you for a few moments so we can have a drink or two," she teased.

"Of course, of course," he nodded. "She'll want to see you as well, I'm sure of it."

"Promise? I mean it, Matthew. Don't leave me with your mother and Aunt Violet. I do love them but I'll lose my mind, I swear."

"I'll do my best," he said.

"Good," she said. "I expect you to watch out for me, you know."

"I will, to a point," he noted. "As long as you promise me no more dancing with married men."

"Oh, God, Matthew," she huffed. "That was just the one time!"

He laughed. "Speaking of watching out, I want you to take care of something before you get here."

"All right," she said, taking on a more business-like tone.

"I want you to switch up the guards the week before the family arrives in London," he said. "Whoever we have on standby, move them to active duty and rotate out whoever is on now. I want fresh eyes on Mary, Sybil, Edith and Anna before the Season begins, and make sure they're ours. I don't want to impose upon Robert's sentries."

"Done," she said. "That's easy enough."

"Thank you," he said. "And it will be good to see you, Rose."

"It won't be a party without me!" she laughed. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," he said, hanging up the call. He stared at his phone screen, wondering why Rose was being summoned to London at this precise time.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 2015**

Cora walked through the Great Hall, through the parlour and into the library. Her husband was seated at his desk, looking up at the portrait of the Fourth Earl of Grantham hung above the fireplace.

"I always found it curious that it was his portrait that was hung here," she said, taking a seat on the sofa.

"Why?" Robert asked. "He enjoyed collecting books. It was his decision to expand the library to what you see here."

"He also enjoyed collecting horses and women," she said pointedly. "I guess that I should be grateful that his portrait isn't hanging anywhere else in the house."

Robert laughed.

"Carson said you wanted to see the guest list for our Season party," she said, handing him a stapled set of pages. "Any reason why? You usually leave these things to me."

"And you do a wonderful job of it, my darling," he smiled at her. "I just want to make sure that you have everyone. I'm terrible about updating you on who from the club I've invited."

"Yes, you are," she smiled. "I'll warn you though, it will be a rush to try and add anyone at this point. I've received replies from almost everyone already."

"I'm sure it's all fine," he nodded, turning the pages. "Ah, Tony and Mabel will be attending. Excellent. I haven't spoken to his father in months."

"I was surprised to see that you asked Rose to come back," she stated.

"Well, I thought it about time that we tried to mend some fences," he said. "She's done quite well for herself, I'll admit that."

"Thanks to Matthew," she nodded.

"In part, yes," he said curtly. "You know, Cora, he would never have gotten that website business of his off the ground if not for me lending him the money to begin with. You could say that everything he has is due to this family and our company, including Rose's employment."

"That's being a bit unfair, isn't it?" she scolded him lightly. "Matthew paid you back years ago. He's built his enterprise into something far greater since then."

"Yes, he has," he conceded. "But I think it important to note that my money and some luck played no small part in his success."

"You know that he wouldn't agree with you on that," she smiled. "And you likely don't believe it yourself, otherwise you would have asked him to invest in the company by now and claimed he owed you that much."

"I think being Managing Director is enough for him at the moment," he said. "I do value Matthew's potential investment, of course, but he hasn't shown me that he is ready for a position on the Board as of yet."

"Well, he'll want that at a minimum in return for the money you expect out of him," she laughed incredulously. "Or are you hoping he'll be so happy once Mary is his wife that he'll sign over his fortune willingly without asking for anything in return?"

"I'm not asking him to sign it over for nothing," he frowned at her. "Matthew's time will come down the road, and for now it's important that he learn what is expected of him and how things work within the company and within the family. He's done well to fix the problems that Patrick left behind, but to sit on the Board and fill a position of power requires more than that."

"And in the meantime, you think he'll be pleased with you managing his money for him?" she asked.

"I won't be managing his money," he said, returning the guest list to her. "Obviously the health of the company is vital to all of us, and should matter even more to Matthew once he becomes part of our family. I would hope that he would want to do all he could to preserve that."

"Edith and Sybil say that we're rushing them," she shook her head. "They think that Mary will object if we push too much."

"She's as stubborn as he is," he sighed. "That's why they're so well matched."

"That's one way of looking at it," she laughed. "Did you have any additions to the guest list, darling?"

"Just two. Carson can get the addresses for you. Sir Richard Carlisle and his associate, Cyril Hightower," he nodded.

"I'll have their invitations sent out right away," she said, getting up from the sofa and walking out of the room.

Robert took up his glass of brandy and looked back up at the portrait of the Fourth Earl. He took a long drink, savouring the taste of the liquor as he went over different thoughts in his mind.

 **Gym, 52** **nd** **Floor, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

Mary raised her fists and stepped forward, punching the air with her right hand, then stepping back. She kept her eyes focused on her reflection in the mirrors that lined one wall of the hotel gym, repeating the punch ten times with her right hand before switching her stance and resuming with her left.

The fitness facility at Matthew's hotel was state-of-the-art, with a vast array of machines, equipment and a spacious environment overlooking the City below. While it was modern and had everything Mary generally used for her workouts, it lacked certain specialized tools, such as an actual punching bag. Given her mood, she was desperate to hit something, rather than shadowbox merely for fitness.

She finished her punches and went over to the bench where she left her towel and water bottle. Taking a drink, she wiped her brow and adjusted her ponytail, then glanced around the gym for her next exercise. She smiled as she spotted a rack of weighted medicine balls.

Going over and picking up the ten-pound ball, she carried it away from the mirrors and over to the brick wall of the gym. Standing back a few paces, she held the ball out in front of her with two hands, swivelled her torso, then threw the ball as hard as she could. The ball thumped into the brick with a resounding thud. She picked up the ball again and repeated the motion, putting all of her strength into each throw, flinging the ball violently, as though she wanted to break through the brick itself.

"You seem to have a lot of anger that you're working through," a voice called.

Mary's breathing had grown strained with her exercises and her arms ached. She turned and arched her eyebrow at a tall man with brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in black shorts and a garish neon-yellow t-shirt. A pair of headphones dangled around his neck.

"Trying to get rid of some stress?" he asked in an American accent, probably from somewhere around New York, giving her a toothy grin.

"Yes, but it seems that I've only attracted some more," she retorted.

"Did you just check in?" he asked easily. "I've been here for a week and I haven't seen you in here before."

"No," she shook her head, reaching down and picking up the exercise ball off the floor. "I'm in here quite often."

"Strange," he said, following her as she went to return the exercise ball to the rack. "I'm certain I would have remembered you."

"Oh, I doubt it," she rolled her eyes. "I imagine that you probably don't pay that much attention to women."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, smiling in confusion.

She gave him a fierce glare. "Simple. If you did pay attention to women, you wouldn't dare use lines like that."

"Ouch," he said, covering his heart and grimacing with feigned hurt. "I get it. You're the no-nonsense type. I like that."

"Something tells me you like a lot of types," she replied, walking past him and getting her water bottle and towel.

"I like women, not going to lie," he smiled, checking out her ass and making no effort to hide it when she turned back around. "And I can appreciate someone who is direct and to the point, and doesn't play games. It makes things easier."

"How wonderful for you," she smiled. "Good luck finding her."

"Oh, come on," he smiled. "Look, I've been watching you for the last half hour since I came in here. Your technique is awful and you're rushing through all your sets. Now, you're fine as hell and you obviously exercise a lot, so I'm guessing you must be pissed off or frustrated about something and that's what's making you work out so inefficiently. I see it all the time. People work out to get out their rage, but the more they work out, the angrier they feel, and they leave the gym tired, but more upset than when they came, happens to the best of us."

"Thank you, doctor," she said, giving him a bewildered look. "But I'm afraid that I don't take unqualified and unsolicited advice from complete strangers."

"Well, let's go get better acquainted then," he smiled. "I've got a room with a City view."

"Goodness, a City view! What an offer!" she said, pretending to think on it. "No."

"Hey, don't be so quick to judge," he laughed, undeterred. "I can think of a way to help you work out all that anger, and I promise you'll be tired and happy by the end of it."

"Well, now that you put it that way…no," she said firmly.

"All right, all right," he smiled, raising his hands in surrender. "Can't blame a guy for trying. It would be fun, though, and I won't tell your boyfriend if you don't. It'll be our secret. Completely guilt-free."

"What makes you think that I have a boyfriend?" she asked.

"I don't see any ring on your finger," he shrugged. "And I'm not lucky enough to meet a woman like you who's single."

She shook her head.

"On that pleasant note, I'll be going," she declared. "Be careful who you try and harass next. Not all women are as amused by such behaviour as I am."

He laughed as she walked away.

Mary left the gym and walked briskly to the elevator without looking back.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

Matthew gave a slight nod to the security guards as he walked from the elevator to the door of his suite. He had visited all of the casinos and worked well into the evening, and still felt as though he was in a daze. No matter what he did to occupy himself, the moment he had any pause, his mind would immediately go back to the telephone conversation between Robert and Cyril Hightower, and all that he and Mary had discovered since. It was normal for him to obsess over an unsolved problem, particularly in the early stages when he first discovered it. This time though, he could not shake the hopelessness that seemed to permeate his every thought. Every theory and idea led to a bad place where Robert was his enemy and would need to be dealt with.

In another time, when faced with this same set of problems, Matthew might have considered ending his affiliation with Crawley Group and going back to Manchester. It wasn't his job to solve all of the world's problems, nor save the family from whatever spiral of doom that Robert was leading them to. In another time, Matthew could have walked away.

Now was not that time.

He swiped his key across the door scanner and went into his suite. Mary had texted him in the afternoon saying she was leaving Crockfords and would meet him back at the hotel. He gathered that they would order room service for dinner as she had not mentioned anything about going out to eat. Usually, if one of them was working late, it was understood the other would fend for themselves. Matthew could eat at any time, and would often grab something fast at Crockfords before having a proper dinner with Mary when he returned home.

He expected she wouldn't have much of an appetite tonight, though. He certainly didn't.

The suite was dark when he came in, just a few lamps casting a faint glow across the large living room. The sun had just set, the night sky outside not quite black. He kicked off his shoes, walked into the living room and removed his suit jacket, placing it on a chair, then loosening his tie and cufflinks.

"Mary?" he called.

"Welcome home," she smiled, coming out of the bedroom. She was dressed casually in jeans and a tank top. "Drink?"

"Sure," he nodded, kissing her lightly as she passed by him on the way to the bar. He walked over to the desk and placed his tie and cufflinks down before going over to look out the window.

"Here," she said, handing him a Coke with no ice and a lime as she came to stand next to him. They clinked glasses, then drank in silence for a moment.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Horrible," she rolled her eyes. "I found out a few things more that I now wish I almost hadn't."

"Such as?" he nodded, looking at her carefully.

"I don't want to talk about it," she frowned, glancing out the window and taking another sip of her drink.

"All right," he said. "Do you want to eat first?"

She turned back to face him. "No," she shook her head.

He frowned in confusion. "Oh, did you already have dinner earlier?"

"No," she said, looking down at her feet.

He blinked, perplexed at her answers. "Why don't we relax a bit, then? Watch a movie or something?"

"I don't want to watch a movie," she whispered, glancing up at him cautiously.

He watched her closely. She held her drink in one hand, the other played with the small plastic stir stick. He could see her chest rise and fall slightly as she breathed. His eyes moved up to her face, taking in her pursed lips and her dark eyes.

He swallowed, wondering if he was seeing in her eyes what she was trying to tell him, or whether he was seeing what he wanted her to be thinking.

He reached out and took her drink from her. She swallowed as he carried both of their glasses over to the coffee table and left them there.

"This isn't a good idea," he said evenly as he walked back towards her.

"No, it isn't," she said quietly.

"It won't solve anything," he declared, coming to stand in front of her, his pulse speeding up.

"No, it won't," she agreed, licking her suddenly dry lips.

He reached out and took both of her hands in his. Holding them together, he raised them to his chest.

She looked at their joined hands, then up to his lips, and finally to his eyes.

"You'll have to say it," he said softly, his eyes pleading, desperately hoping he hadn't misread her.

"I want to forget everything," she whispered, her eyes on his. "Just for tonight."

He pulled her to him and kissed her softly. She returned his kiss ardently, letting go of his hands to reach up and hold his face, keeping him close as she slid her tongue past his lips. She pressed her body against him, moaning into his mouth as his hands slid down her sides, across her back and settled on her bottom.

"Please, Matthew," she hissed between kisses.

"Just the two of us," he said, kissing her back.

"Always," she gasped.

He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. He turned, still kissing her, and carried them to the bedroom.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, May 2015**

"Did Mr. Matthew seem a bit off to you today?" Anna asked.

"Before I answer that, can we at least agree that one place we should not be discussing work is when we're in the bath together?" Alex countered, leaning forward and kissing the nape of her neck.

She laughed, caressing his legs on either side of her as he ran the sponge across her back.

"Come on, I'm being serious," she said. "Didn't you think that Mr. Matthew and Mary were a bit subdued today?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Matthew is usually pretty even keel, regardless of the situation. He's not one to get too emotional even when he's worked up about something."

"Yeah, Mary's the same way," she nodded. "I just expected they would both be more interested in what we found out on those statements, though."

"I did too, but if they don't know, then they don't know. We'll just have to dig deeper," he said. "Besides, Matthew's right, the business is more important than our investigation. With Lord Grantham and the family coming up for the Season, we need to make sure everything's perfect before they arrive."

"God, don't remind me," she sighed. "We used to have to do presentations for them in the boardroom every summer. It was ghastly. I couldn't sleep for days before and after, I was so nervous. Thank God Mary stopped that practice a few years ago."

"Well, don't think it will all be fancy clothes and parties for you this Season, Miss Smith," he laughed, running his hands up and down her sides.

"Why?" she frowned, turning her head to look back at him over her shoulder. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," he said innocently. "Just a dinner."

"A dinner?" she blinked. "With who?"

"You and me," he said. "And Lady Grantham."

"The Dowager Countess?" she exclaimed. "You want me to have dinner with her?"

"Yes. What's the matter?" he asked. "You've met her before; plenty of times."

"But that was different!" she protested. "The rest of the family was always there, and I was just an employee of the company."

"You're one of Lady Mary's closest friends," he noted. "You aren't just an employee."

"Yeah, but I only ever had to say a few polite words to her and that was it, not maintain an entire dinner conversation," she objected.

"Anna," he said seriously. "I told you about my history with Lady Grantham. I've never introduced any woman to her before, and I want the three of us to have dinner together. I was going to see her during the Season anyway, so you may as well come along. No pressure. No expectations. It's just dinner. Besides, she thinks it's a wonderful idea and she's very much looking forward to it, so you really don't have a choice."

"You fucking git," she shook her head. "Of course you already set it up so I can't say no."

"No, you can't," he smiled. "Not if you love me."

"Well, I love you a little bit less when you pull stunts like this," she frowned.

"Anna," he whinged, looking at her intently.

"All right, all right," she sighed, snuggling back against him again. "But if she tells you to end it with me after I make a fool of myself, I'm going to be bloody pissed off at you."

"She won't," Alex smiled, kissing her cheek. "And you won't make a fool of yourself, and it would take more than the word of the Dowager Countess of Grantham to get me off of you, love."

"Don't say things like that unless you mean it," she said, looking at him seriously.

"I mean it," he smiled, pulling her back into a kiss. "Every word."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

When Mary returned to the suite earlier that afternoon, she'd gone straight through to take a shower. As she closed her eyes with the water pouring down on her, she couldn't stop her memories from flashing through her mind. Her Papa had never been the sentimental type. Growing up, she spent more time with nannies and tutors than she did with her own parents. Robert Crawley would make appearances during meals, sitting at the head of the table, or watching from afar during her equestrian competitions, dance recitals and concerts. Sometimes, she would go days without seeing him. 'Papa has business in London' her Mama would say. Edith would frown in confusion. Sybil would cry. Mary never let it bother her. It sounded so official, so important. 'Going away on business' became a goal of hers. She wanted to be the one given such crucial missions when she grew up.

Through the years, as she grew older, she spent more and more time with him. She took secret delight in impressing him. He expected her to be at the top of her class, but she could tell he was still surprised when she achieved it, year after year. He would look at her most curiously though when she began working for Crawley Group. It started out with small jobs in the summers, mainly mailroom and secretarial work, mostly. However, Mary never let herself be confined by her circumstances, and used the opportunity to learn about how the company worked, how the casino business was run, how success was measured. She made fast friends of the dealers, bartenders, servers and hostesses, picking their brains about the ins and outs of their jobs, understanding how Crockfords worked from the ground up. When it came time for her and Patrick to learn more about the family business, she already had a basic knowledge of the executive responsibilities, and a thorough understanding of the nuances that went into the everyday tasks of the employees. As Patrick struggled to grasp each lesson, she excelled. Papa never said it aloud, but she exceeded his expectations.

She washed her hair and scrubbed her body as though in a trance. Ever since she left school and began working full time, his expectations seemed to have soared. She thought it was a sign of respect, that he trusted her with the full brunt of his vision for the company, that by scolding her and constantly pointing out her perceived mistakes that he was really preparing her for the day she would sit in his chair, have the presidency to herself. If she were just a mere underling, he wouldn't bother caring about the job she did, she reasoned. The fact he took the time to deal with her meant he saw great things in her future.

Then Patrick was killed.

Looking back, she was still disappointed in herself for how she didn't exactly feel sad at his passing. That was before she knew the true facts of his death, of course, when she thought that one of his binges had gone horribly awry. She was far more angry and upset when Papa told her he was bringing Matthew to the City, that she would not automatically be given control of London, that she would have to share power. It was a betrayal, she thought back then. How could Papa do this to his own flesh and blood?

After drying her hair, she had sat on the bed in her robe for what seemed like hours, waiting for time to pass and Matthew to come home. All of her memories, everything she aspired to, all that she had poured herself into her entire life, it all seemed to shatter before her now. She wanted everything that her father was – President, Earl, head of the family, all of it. As she grew older, she had accepted the usual realities about her parents that all children learned. They weren't perfect. They weren't invincible. They weren't right all of the time. They didn't know everything.

Never did she imagine she would think of her father the way she did now.

She slowly got up and went into her closet and stared at her clothes. The designer gowns, expensive jeans, decadent lingerie, luxurious shoes – it was all part of the image of Lady Mary Crawley that she had carefully nurtured over the years. She didn't know who that person was anymore, or, more accurately, she didn't know if she wanted to be that person anymore.

She carefully selected a normal set of underwear, jeans and a tank top. Matthew would be home soon. Matthew would surely be suffering the same as she was. He had already mentioned this morning, after both of them had slept fitfully after hearing her father's telephone conversation with Cyril Hightower. Matthew wasn't part of the family, but his upbringing had closely followed hers in many respects. He, more than perhaps anyone, would understand. He would realize what she needed.

They would heal together, or try to.

* * *

"Oh, fuck!" she groaned, arching her back as his lips closed around her breast, his tongue circling her sensitive flesh as he pushed a second finger inside of her.

"Such language, Lady Mary," he said huskily against her warm skin, licking back and forth across her breast, then kissing a trail up to her neck and ear. "It's positively scandalous."

He increased the pace of his fingers.

"You're wet," he whispered, kissing the skin below her ear. "That isn't terribly ladylike either."

She moaned and whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand.

"But maybe that's just it," he growled, his body pressed against her side. "Tonight, you're not a Lady, are you?"

She shut her eyes tight, turning her head towards him.

"Tonight, you're mine, Mary," he said raggedly, kissing her fiercely. "You're mine. Say it."

"Yours," she gasped. "All yours."

She cried out as he thrust his fingers in deep and pressed down on her with his thumb. Pleasure and relief shot through her, causing her to arch her back as her thighs tensed around his hand, heat flashing through her in waves. He stilled his hand, letting her ride out her peak, kissing her face as she came back down.

"I love getting you there," he said thickly.

She opened her eyes, blinking as she watched him bring his hand to his mouth and lick his fingers.

"I love getting _you_ there," she replied, pushing against his chest and flipping him on to his back.

She turned and leaned over him, taking his mouth, jabbing her tongue against his. His hands came up and wrapped across her bare back, holding her tight. He loved the feel of her, the taste of her. His arousal flared whenever she acted so uninhibited, as though she were sharing a side of herself that only he was allowed to see.

Her hand moved between their bodies and down below his waist, taking hold of him. She smiled wickedly upon hearing his groan at her touch, and she stroked him slowly, kissing his cheek before she licked his earlobe teasingly.

"Mine," she drawled, stroking him again. "Say it."

"Yours," he almost shouted, turning his face and kissing her again. "Only yours."

She laughed sultrily, lifting up and loosening his hold on her. She kissed her way down his chest, across his stomach and lower still, her eyes looking up at him as she went, a devilish smirk across her lips as she settled between his legs.

"Mine," she arched her eyebrow before taking him into her mouth.

He let out a long cry, shutting his eyes and curling his hands into fists as she moved on him, her fingers and mouth were relentless and exquisite. There was no drama, no dilemmas, no crises. There was only her, and him, and bliss.

It was not long before his hips were thrusting up towards her, his control long since broken. The warmth of her mouth and her mewls of encouragement driving him on. He held his hands at his sides, all the energy he had left devoted to not seizing her hair and forcing her. He opened his eyes and watched, the sight of her taking him in hurtling him towards the edge.

She gave him a light squeeze and lifted off of him, licking her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair dishevelled. He almost lost it seeing how she looked and realizing he had caused it.

"Sorry, darling," she grinned. "I got a bit carried away."

"That…that's all right," he stammered. "It's probably best that you stopped when you did."

"Oh, I don't think so," she smiled, moving up his body and straddling his stomach. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I have plans for you tonight. Watch me."

She kept her eyes on him as she reached between them again and took hold of him. She eased herself back, her eyelids fluttering as she felt him slide inside of her.

"God, Mary," he sighed, his hands coming up to steady her hips.

They moved together, slowly at first, then faster as they raced to finish together. His hands moved from her hips to her rear, holding her in place as he thrust into her. She met each of his strokes with one of her own, leaning down and framing his face, kissing him over and over, matching each of his cries with one of her own.

She was being wanton and quite unladylike, but she felt safe all the same, and unashamed. This wasn't proper, or neat, or the right thing given what they faced and all that was happening around them. Some small part of her expected him to give her a lecture in the morning. But he was with her now, fully and completely, giving her what she wanted, allowing her to give him what he needed, even if neither of them wanted to admit it openly.

Mary rose and arched her back as she released, grinding down on him to prolong her pleasure.

Matthew watched her spend, her skin flushed, her eyes closed, her mouth open as she moaned. She was his lover, and his love, the woman he literally dreamed about. The mature thing to do would have been to deny her, to deny his own urges. They needed to talk, to plan, most of all to rest. These past days had been exhausting and draining, everything they knew had been obliterated, leaving behind a crater of uncertainty that neither of them knew how to navigate out of. But they were here, together, and how could he deny them this? Watching her go over once again, he thrust a final time and released, sitting up and holding on to her, burying his face against her skin, taking in her scent and her touch as he let go.

They held on to each other in the dark, each of them reaching for breath, waiting for their heartbeats to calm.

"Sleep?" she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

"Not yet," he sighed against her breast.

"Good," she smiled, holding on to him as he turned them over and brought her down to the bed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

"Mine," she arched her eyebrow before taking him into her mouth.

He let out a long cry, shutting his eyes and curling his hands into fists as she moved on him, her fingers and mouth putting relentless pressure on him. There was no drama, no dilemmas, no crises. There was only him, and her, and bliss.

It was not long before his hips were thrusting up towards her, his control long since broken. The warmth of her mouth and her mewls of encouragement driving him on. He held his hands at his sides, all the energy he had left devoted to not seizing her hair and forcing her. He opened his eyes and watched, the sight of her taking him in hurtling him towards the edge.

She gave him a light squeeze and lifted off of him, licking her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair dishevelled. He almost lost it seeing how she looked and realizing he had caused it.

"Sorry, darling," she grinned. "I got a bit carried away."

"That…that's all right," he stammered. "It's probably best that you stopped when you did."

"Oh, I don't think so," she smiled, moving up his body and straddling his stomach. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I have plans for you tonight. Watch me."

She kept her eyes on him as she reached between them again and took hold of him. She eased herself back, her eyelids fluttering as she felt him slide inside of her.

"God, Mary," he sighed, his hands coming up to steady her hips.

They moved together, slowly at first, then faster as they raced to finish together. His hands moved from her hips to her rear, holding her in place as he thrust into her. She met each of his strokes with one of her own, leaning down and framing his face, kissing him over and over, matching each of his cries with one of her own.

She was being wanton and quite unladylike, but she felt safe all the same, and unashamed. This wasn't proper, or neat, or the right thing given what they faced and all that was happening around them. Some small part of her expected him to give her a lecture in the morning. But he was with her now, fully and completely, giving her what she wanted, allowing her to give him what he needed, even if neither of them wanted to admit it openly.

Mary rose and arched her back as she released, grinding down on him to prolong her pleasure.

Matthew watched her spend, her skin flushed, her eyes closed, her mouth open as she moaned. She was his lover, and his love, the woman he literally dreamed about. The mature thing to do would have been to deny her, to deny his own urges. They needed to talk, to plan, most of all to rest. These past days had been exhausting and draining, everything they knew had been obliterated, leaving behind a crater of uncertainty that neither of them knew how to navigate out of. But they were here, together, and how could he deny them this? Watching her go over once again, he thrust a final time and released, sitting up and holding on to her, burying his face against her skin, taking in her scent and her touch as he let go.

They held on to each other in the dark, each of them reaching for breath, waiting for their heartbeats to calm.

"Sleep?" she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

"Not yet," he sighed against her breast.

"Good," she smiled, holding on to him as he turned them over and brought her down to the bed.

 **Chapter 25:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2015**

Mary typed away on her laptop, the glow from the screen the only light in the darkened living room. Outside, all was quiet and calm, dawn still hours away. She arched her eyebrow as she worked, searching through the Crawley Group databases and servers, part of her not wanting to discover any other evidence against her father, but unable to look away. Information and details that she considered normal and innocuous before now seemed anything but. Emails, travel itineraries, bank account deposits and withdrawals, invoices and payments, all approved by or relating to Robert Crawley. Were they simply the daily minutiae of a President running a profitable corporation, an Earl presiding over his family? Or was there a more nefarious purpose to them, an ulterior motive that she was never meant to see?

Mary's memory recalled meetings that she would be present for with him, deliveries that she made on his behalf, even parties where she observed him laughing and joking with a group of his mates. Even family dinner conversations morphed into something different for her now.

' _Old Branksome's a dull dog, but his family's rich and he's done a decent job of maintaining the fortune. Getting him to focus on anything but the races is a challenge, though.'_

' _I hear of schemes every day that'll double whatever's put into them or triple it or more. Now Henry Stoke has gone in with a bundle…'_

' _Mary, you'll be in Chelsea tomorrow. Drop off this letter for me. It's just some business I need to deal with.'_

"I thought you weren't going back to being Lady Mary Crawley for a few hours yet," Matthew mumbled, kissing her cheek as he sat down next to her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"I'm always Lady Mary Crawley, darling," she sighed, shaking her head and scrolling down the laptop screen. "I just like being your version and no one else's from time to time."

"Was that what it was all about then?" he teased, nuzzling her neck. "You used me to clear your head and now you're back to work?"

"If I wanted to use you, I would have made you service me, then left you high and dry," she retorted, giving him a knowing smile. "And we both know that I let you do much, much more than that."

"Very well," he chuckled against her shoulder. "But why can't you leave this alone at least until morning?"

"I can't, Matthew," she sighed, leaving the laptop and leaning back against him tiredly. "Yesterday I found a series of transactions back in 2005 that may correspond to Papa taking the profits from the oil futures contracts and investing them back into Crawley Group, to say nothing for a number of large withdrawals that he authorized that may have funded the purchase of the contracts in the first place."

"All that proves is that he made those investments," he said. "I'm not entirely put out by that fact alone. The company makes money off numerous questionable activities, although there's clearly a glaring difference between Robert being told to invest at a specific time and having advance knowledge of the bombings."

"Yes, there is," she nodded. "A very glaring difference. In one instance, it's business as usual. In the other, he may be wilfully profiting from terrorism."

"What I don't understand is his almost desperate need to make a big score," he frowned. "It's almost like the way Patrick used to risk so much chasing after a windfall. The company's had steady growth for years, all expenses are being covered, why did he need to go so far outside his usual strategy?"

"I can answer that one – because of his ego," she said bitterly. "Even back in 2005, Papa was having less and less to do with the running of the company. He didn't visit the casinos every day, the construction company has followed the same business model for years, and the tenants and Village businesses don't require constant review. Back then, he didn't know what a horrible businessman Patrick would end up being, but I suspected that he had a succession plan in place already. Edith would take over the construction business, and Patrick and I would have London. Under those circumstances, he would eventually fade into the background."

"And he wanted a legacy," he said.

"Yes," she nodded. "Or more accurately, he wanted to maintain control. He didn't want to hand over the reins without his fingerprints being all over our success. Looking at it now, it was probably his goal to be more than just a figurehead, to have more authority than even Granny, staying at Downton, but being constantly consulted and updated, so he could claim all the glory while the rest of us do the work."

"Shit," he sighed. "Why must it matter who gets the credit?"

"It's precisely that attitude that I'm sure enrages Papa, just as it annoyed me," she smiled, turning and kissing him quickly. "You don't actively seek out the credit, but in the end, you make it impossible for the rest of us not to acknowledge your contributions. You're quite devious, actually."

"Devious?" he scoffed. "Me?"

"Yes, you," she said pointedly, her hand running across his bare chest. "Don't pull your fucking gallant Matthew Crawley act with me. It won't work. You've got an agenda, just like the rest of us."

He smiled and kissed her softly. "Is that so? Well why don't you enlighten me, so we both are fully informed as to my intentions?"

"All right," she smiled, moving in his lap and straddling him. She put her arms across his shoulders, smiling at him, the glow from her laptop screen lighting their faces. "I don't think you want control of the company, ultimately. You'd rather run your own operation, but you're certainly not against coming in and helping out, so that my family knows it was you who fixed everything."

"And why would I want to do that?" he smirked.

"To give you leverage in negotiating with Papa in the future, perhaps," she mused. "It must grate on you that you still need to pay tribute to us when you've built your empire all on your own."

"That's not an entirely ridiculous theory," he smiled.

"And there's probably some sense of duty to it, as well," she said lightly. "After all, darling, you're the one who's been part of our world almost as long as I have. You can't just walk away from all of that so easily."

"No," he said, his hands coming up and rubbing her bare arms. "No, I most certainly cannot."

She leaned forward and kissed him. His hands moved from her arms to her sides, then to her hips. He groaned into her mouth as she rubbed against him deliberately.

"Mary," he said once she pulled back. "All of this business with your papa, all that we've uncovered, I know it's come as a great shock. It's thrown me off quite thoroughly, I can only imagine what it must be doing to you."

She looked down, nodding slightly.

"But, darling, it doesn't change who you are," he said firmly, drawing her attention back to him. "What you do each and every day in running your division, it has nothing to do with Robert, or Violet, or me, or anyone."

She smiled at him. "Goodness, what a testimonial. I suppose you could be just saying that because you want to have your way with me again."

"Maybe," he shot back. "But it doesn't matter, does it? If what we've uncovered about Robert is true, then the company may be at risk. And you won't let Crawley Group fall, will you?"

"No," she said immediately, her eyes flashing. "Absolutely not."

He smiled and kissed her again. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Is that so?" she arched her eyebrow, grinding her hips against him. "You're off to sleep, are you?"

He swallowed nervously, his body responding to hers. "I've already asked too much of you tonight," he whispered. "We really shouldn't have done all that."

"Mmm, yes, I suppose we shouldn't have," she nodded. "It would have been more appropriate if I spent the night weeping while you brooded until we fell into a restless sleep."

"Something like that, yes," he said shakily as she continued to move against him. "That would have been the mature thing to do."

"Yes, yes, quite," she agreed. "Taking you back to bed now and getting you off would be highly irresponsible in light of all that we should be doing at 3 in the morning."

He gasped in surprise. "Exactly. That would be taking advantage of you."

"A complete dereliction of your duties as Managing Director," she said formally. "It would be an abuse of your power to put the Vice-President, Operations on her hands and knees and fuck her senseless."

He grunted loudly. "Extremely so, not to mention…vulgar and…unprofessional."

"Well, we have five hours before we need to get up and resume our investigation," she declared, leaning over to lick his ear. "I'm going to bed. I'll leave it up to you to decide how exactly we're going to spend that time. I must say though, that I'm feeling in the mood to be rather…vulgar…and loud."

He almost whinged as she gracefully got up off of him and walked into the bedroom, her hips swaying suggestively.

He slammed the laptop shut and ran after her, her squeal of laughter ringing out as he grabbed her by the hips from behind, lifted her off the floor and carried her to bed.

 **Fera at Claridge's Restaurant, Claridge's Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, June 2015**

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Violet asked, frowning down at her plate.

"It's a grilled salad, smoked over embers to infuse flavour," Alex said, smiling at Anna as he explained the unconventional creation that had just been served to the Dowager Countess.

"A grilled salad? One would think that grilling a salad would defeat the purpose of making one in the first place," she said in a clipped tone, poking at the lettuce leaves with her fork as though she were testing a dead corpse.

"Try it. You'll like it," he said.

"Anna," Violet said. "What do you think of this molecular gastronomy abomination?"

"Well, it's not the type of thing that I would have eaten, if I'm honest," Anna said carefully, glancing over at Alex, who nodded to her encouragingly. "But, I've tried a number of different restaurants since I've met Alex and they've all been quite good, actually. I'm finding that some of the dishes that I normally wouldn't have touched are very delicious, rather."

"See?" Alex said triumphantly.

"Anna, you do know that you are under no obligation to agree with him, on anything," Violet said, waving her hand dismissively in Alex's direction. "Feeding a man's ego will do you no good, I assure you."

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded, smiling at Alex.

Violet gingerly took a bite of the grilled salad, and another after that.

"My, well that isn't so bad, is it?" she stated.

"No, no it's not," he laughed.

"Well, the starter is acceptable, but I shall reserve judgment on the rest of the menu," she said haughtily.

"I would expect nothing less," he replied.

"Now, Anna," she continued as they all ate their salad. "Mary mentioned to me yesterday that you haven't taken a proper vacation in years. Is that true?"

"Er, well, I took a few days off at the end of last year," Anna said.

"And what did you do?" Violet asked.

"Oh, I ran some errands and went out around the City," Anna mumbled. "It was a nice break."

"I'm sure that it was," Violet chuckled. "Well, after our Season party in August, I want you to take some proper time off. I've already discussed it with Mary and she is in full agreement. You deserve to take a real vacation."

"Thank you, Lady Grantham," Anna blushed.

"Anna's been looking into a trip for the both of us," Alex smiled.

"And why should you be permitted to go along?" Violet asked, eyeing him curiously. "The purpose of a vacation is to relax, isn't it?"

"Yes, well, erm, yes," Alex blinked.

"And you think that your presence will make it a relaxing time, do you? I have my doubts," Violet huffed. "What about that time I took you with me to Rome? You were insufferable."

Anna had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing too much.

"I told you it was a bad idea to have dinner with Lady Grantham," Alex said to Anna, rolling his eyes.

"You are more than welcome to leave, if you wish," Violet said. "Anna and I are perfectly capable of enjoying ourselves without you, aren't we, Anna?"

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded, smiling at Alex's petulant expression.

"Now, are you going to behave?" Violet asked him.

"Yes, Lady Grantham," Alex said in exasperation.

"Good. Now, Anna, where were you thinking of going? As it will be August, you need to be careful. It can be terribly hot in some places," Violet advised.

Alex took a sip of water, smiling to himself as Violet and Anna carried on an animated conversation about possible vacation destinations.

 **Centre Court, Wimbledon Tennis Championships, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon, London, England, July 2015**

Mary held Matthew's hand as they walked down the aisle and took their boxed seats. She kept her dark sunglasses on, focusing on the players warming up on the court, not looking anywhere else.

"I'm right here," he whispered to her, their joined hands resting on her lap. "We'll get through this together."

"This is a nightmare," she hissed. "Inviting Sir Richard and Cyril Hightower to our Season party? What is he playing at? What could he possibly be thinking?"

"We'll figure it out," he said. "Let's just put it aside for now."

Mary shook her head. They were meeting her sisters and Matthew's mother to watch today's matches. She and Matthew had come straight from the office, with Edith driving Sybil and Isobel over. Thankfully Mary's parents weren't attending. She had been able to avoid them so far since they came up to London this week, but they were due to have dinner in a few days' time, and she was dreading it.

In the weeks since she and Matthew had investigated her father's business dealings in 2005, they had not uncovered much else. Robert Crawley preferred to use the phone, rather than email and text, so written records of his communications were difficult to find. Mary considered going to Murray or one of her father's bankers to find out what they knew, but that was too dangerous. She had no legitimate excuse to look into her father's personal investments dating back to a time when she was still in school.

Beyond those difficulties, Mary did not have time to dig as deep as she wanted into her father's past. The Season was a busy time for the casinos, with numerous groups coming in for special events, high rollers and whales flying in and demanding her time, and the ongoing expansion to oversee, Mary's plate was already full, and Matthew was just as occupied with his division. They didn't have the luxury of spending hours mucking about reviewing bank records and emails. Not wanting to involve anyone else prevented them from using Anna, Alex, or anyone else to assist them.

Mary took a deep breath and smiled at Matthew reassuringly, keeping his hand in hers as she looked back out to the tennis court. The past month hadn't been all bad. Summer meant charity galas and special appearances. Despite the potential turmoil regarding her family, Mary enjoyed attending these events with Matthew, the two of them dressed immaculately and posing for photographs on the red carpets. It was strange how life had turned for her recently. Months ago, business was good and she was concerned about her relationship with Matthew. Now, her family and career were possibly in crisis, but she never felt better about being Matthew's girlfriend.

"You're smiling," he said, looking at her from behind his own sunglasses. "Good."

"I was just thinking about the Children's Hospital gala last week," she said, keeping her eyes looking forward.

"Ah," he said, his cheeks blushing slightly. "It was a lovely event, wasn't it?"

"For a very worthy cause," she replied easily. "I always enjoy going back to Claridge's. It really is a beautiful space they have there."

"Yes, it is," he said, coughing slightly.

"They truly think of everything when they plan those events," she continued. "Having a private washroom for the gala only was genius."

"I agree," he struggled, coughing again. "Privacy is…important."

She leaned over to whisper to him, her eyes still on the court. "You never did give me back my panties."

His cheeks blushed red. "No," he muttered. "No, I didn't."

She smiled at his discomfort. Adorable Matthew. So seemingly innocent and conservative in public and anything but when they were alone. It had been his idea to tease her while they had drinks at the beginning of the gala, and when she dared to challenge him to back up his words with action, he'd pulled her into one of the washrooms and locked the door. It was wildly inappropriate, and they both ended up bidding a great deal of money during the silent auction to try and make amends.

There had been several such nights lately, where they left the office behind and just acted spontaneously, doing whatever came to mind, enjoying themselves in the moment before the morning came and the weight of responsibility and reality shackled them again. Mary found she enjoyed their evenings together immensely, be it touring a museum during extended hours, eating fish and chips along the Thames or having wild sex pressed against the window of his hotel suite. The evenings were their respite, and these days such moments were keeping them both sane.

Sybil had emailed her the guest list for the family Season party at Grantham House just a few hours ago. Mary had seen it before when discussing the event with Mama. She was shocked to find out that her Papa had added Sir Richard and Cyril Hightower to the guest list at the last moment, and she had told Matthew the moment they were in his car on their way to Wimbledon.

"Mary! Matthew!" Edith called as she came into the box with Sybil and Isobel behind her.

"Edith," Mary replied, standing up and kissing her sister on both cheeks before greeting Sybil and Isobel. Edith and Sybil sat on Mary's right, while Isobel took a seat on Matthew's left.

"How are you, Mother?" Matthew asked.

"Splendid, thank you!" Isobel smiled. "I'd forgotten how lovely the grounds are here."

Matthew pointed out certain landmarks to his mother, including the Royal Box, the players' coaches and girlfriends sitting in their private boxes, and the retractable roof that was currently in the open position with the bright sun shining down on them.

"Papa mentioned you haven't called in a while," Sybil said idly.

"I've been busy," Mary replied. "I texted him yesterday and sent him a report by email. It's easier for me to deal with him that way than set aside time for a call."

"Yes, that's true, but then he and Mama call us and ask what's going on," Edith smiled.

"And what do you tell them?" Mary asked.

"What we always do, that you and Matthew are busy out looking at wedding venues together. That always shuts them up," Edith teased.

Mary's eyebrows shot up. She glanced to her left to make sure that Matthew was still talking to Isobel, then turned back and glared at her sisters, the sunglasses doing nothing to mask her obvious displeasure.

"Don't joke about it!" Mary said under her breath.

"It's 2015, you know," Sybil said quietly. "You're a modern woman. You can always propose to him."

Edith giggled.

"Shut up," Mary frowned. "Wait a minute. Has he said anything to you?"

"To me? No! Why would he?" Sybil frowned.

"Because the two of you are practically brother and sister, the way you hang around each other all the time," Mary said.

"We don't spend that much time together," Sybil complained. "We haven't had lunch in ages because he's been so busy."

"But you still text," Mary noted. "Sybil, if you're keeping secrets from me, God help you…"

"I'm not! I'm not!" Sybil laughed. "Darling, come on. You know my loyalty is to you."

"It better be," Mary warned. "Don't say anything Sybil, I mean it. I don't want there to be any pressure on him."

"But you're not against the idea," Edith remarked.

Mary swallowed and looked back at the court.

"Interesting," Sybil teased.

"Anyway, we got you a few more days free of them, but we can't get you out of dinner," Edith said.

"No, of course not," Mary sighed. "I'll be seeing plenty of them for the next month. It's just that we have a lot going on at work, and events and such on top of that."

"Oh, I forgot to show you this," Sybil said, taking out her mobile. "That photo of you and Matthew from that Pride in London gala went viral on Instagram."

Mary looked at her sister's phone screen and smiled. The photo of them was quite good, with Matthew wearing Armani black tie and she in a white backless gown from Prada.

"That's quite good, isn't it?" Edith smiled.

"Yeah," Mary nodded. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

Following the end of the match, Mary brought them downstairs near the player's lounge so that Isobel could get an autograph or two. Many of the players were regular visitors to Crockfords during tournament time and it was easy for her to get access. As Matthew and Isobel made small talk with Roger Federer, Mary stood off to the side and checked her phone.

"Mary," a voice called.

"Tony," she said, looking up and giving him a polite smile. She turned her head and accepted his kiss to her cheek.

"I thought I saw you and your sisters earlier," Tony smiled. "It was a fun set of matches today. Murray looks in fine form."

"He does," she agreed. "I think I'm favouring Djokovic. For me, he's looking better than last year when he won."

"I can't disagree with that," he smiled. "I suppose Matthew probably has some money down on the outcome, doesn't he?"

"Perhaps," she smiled, glancing over her shoulder at Matthew and Isobel laughing with Roger. "He was rather angry when Nadal lost last week. I don't know if he's recovered sufficiently to think about who else he wants to win."

"I see," he nodded, following her gaze, then patiently waiting for her to look back at him.

"I trust we'll be seeing you and Mabel at Grantham House in August?" she asked, searching for a conversation topic.

"Of course," he nodded. "You'll see me sooner than that, but we'll be at your family party also. I usually see a few faces that I haven't talked to in a while so it's great fun."

"Well, there may be a few unwelcome faces this year," she rolled her eyes. "Apparently Papa has invited Sir Richard Carlisle."

"Carlisle is going to be there?" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes," she nodded. "Though I can't understand why. He isn't exactly a friend of the family."

"No, I would have thought he wasn't," he frowned. "Well, don't worry. I'll protect you from him."

She gave him a polite smile, then glanced over at Matthew again.

"Well, I should be going. I'll see you at Crockfords tomorrow night," he said, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "Good day, Mary."

"Tony," she smiled.

She turned away and went back to Matthew and Isobel.

"Darling, we should let Roger go," Mary smiled, giving Roger an apologetic look. "He probably has many commitments he needs to get to."

"Of course," Matthew agreed. "Mother, let's get going."

They all thanked Roger for his time and said goodbye. Mary took Matthew's arm and walked with him and Isobel out of the building and towards his car.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, July 2015**

"Granny was rather impressed with you," Mary smiled.

"She was?" Anna blinked. "Oh, well, we had a pleasant dinner."

"Apparently so," Mary shrugged, arching her eyebrow at her assistant. "She isn't usually so effusive with her compliments. You must have done well."

"I hope so," Anna nodded. "Alex thinks very highly of her. I wasn't actually aware that they were close."

"I don't think any of us were," Mary said. "Matthew told me that they had some history, but she's never mentioned him."

"Well, I just hope that I passed the test," Anna sighed. "There's enough poking and prodding during the Season as it is with the paparazzi always around here and every woman who comes through dressed to the nines. The appraisal of Lady Grantham is the last thing I need."

"You've passed with flying colours, I think," Mary smiled. "Have you thought any further about where you want to go?"

"France, I think," Anna replied. "We'll start in Paris, then head down to the Loire. Alex has never been, but his French is better than mine."

"It'll be hot there in August," Mary smiled. "Dress accordingly. Perhaps you'll have to spend a day by the water."

"Oh, I could never go to one of those topless beaches," Anna blushed. "I'd be mortified."

"Well, then you had better tell Alex that so he doesn't get his expectations up," Mary joked. "Though I suppose you can always make it up to him in other ways."

"God, don't even!" Anna shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Anna," Mary laughed. "It's just such a refreshing change to tease you about your boyfriend, rather than regale you with some disastrous tale about one of mine."

"There haven't been any disasters with Mr. Crawley, though, has there?" Anna smiled.

"No, no there's hasn't," Mary grinned.

* * *

"It's far more posh than I remember it," Rose noted as they walked the casino floor. "And the staff. Where did you find them? I didn't know there were this many good looking people in London!"

"It's all Mary. Crockfords is her baby," Matthew smiled. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I can't believe I'm here," she shook her head. "I made the mistake of announcing my return on Twitter and people have been coming out of the woodwork wanting to meet up. I should have just kept my mouth shut."

"An impossible task, if ever there was one," he smiled.

"You can fuck right off," she said, taking his arm. "If it wasn't for Sybil, I'd have gone back to Vietnam a week ago. I can't believe I have to put up with all of this for three more weeks."

"Well, you do," he said. "Any idea why Robert invited you back here?"

"Not a clue," she said. "He's barely said two words to me since I arrived. Cousin Cora's made more of an effort, at breakfast mainly. I assume it's because he's going to be making some big show at the party."

"Possibly. He's invited Sir Richard Carlisle to attend," he muttered.

"What? Why?" she frowned. "I know Lord Grantham doesn't know about…well…about what you know about Sir Richard, but still, he has no reason to want him there."

"I couldn't tell you," he sighed. "And I can't ask him about it without raising his suspicions. As far as he knows, we're all cordial with each other, as always."

"I'll do some digging, though I can't expect to get very far. It isn't as though Cousin Robert is going to take me into his confidence," she said. "But, he does have an Ultrabook that he travels with. That should be easy enough to get into. I just need to wait for him to leave it behind when he goes out to one of his meetings, or parties, or dinners, or whatever."

"If you can do that…discretely…see if you get his personal financials. He's been making some curious investment and spending decisions lately, and I'd like to know why," he said quietly, glancing around the casino floor.

"I can tell you why, Cousin Robert is rubbish at investing, that's why," Rose shrugged. "Mummy and Daddy would joke about it from time to time, back when they were on speaking terms, anyway."

"Yes, I've heard as much myself, but I'd like some actual proof of it," he said. "I don't confront people based on hearsay."

Rose frowned at him.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Rumours...information that cannot be substantiated, such as relying on a witness for the truth of what someone else said…hearsay," he explained, waving his hand.

"Ah…rumours," she nodded. "You should have just said that rather than using your fancy legal words."

"Just be careful," he warned. "On the odd chance that he genuinely does want to mend fences, I wouldn't want you to ruin all that by being caught snooping around."

"As though I would be caught," Rose said smugly. "Now, where's Mary and Sybil? I want to go play!"

"Sybil and Edith are on the way. Mary's upstairs working. We're meeting everyone in the High Limit Room in 20 minutes," he said, glancing at the clock on his mobile.

"Just enough time for you to buy me a drink, then!" she smiled.

"All right," he sighed. "If I don't, you'll just wave a server over anyway."

"Exactly!" she smirked, pulling him towards the closest bar.

 **Espelette Restaurant, The Connaught Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, July 2015**

"Good afternoon, sir," the valet nodded, tipping his cap as he opened the car door for Matthew. "Welcome to The Connaught."

"I'll be out shortly," Matthew said, handing the valet the car remote. "I'm just dropping her off for afternoon tea."

"Very good, sir," the valet said, handing Matthew a claim ticket. "I'll have it waiting out here for you, sir."

Matthew walked around the car and stepped on to the kerb, taking Mary's hand and nodding to the doorman as they walked into the hotel.

"Now why can't I stay, again?" he asked as they crossed the luxuriously decorated lobby.

"It's ladies only," she smiled, arching her eyebrow at him. "No boys allowed."

"That's sexist, not to mention archaic," he frowned.

"Then come through and make your complaint to Granny," she challenged.

"No thanks," he sighed.

"Don't make those sad eyes at me, it won't work," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Besides, if I wasn't having tea, then I'd be back at the office. It's not as though I'd have time for you, regardless."

"Yes, but if we were back at the office, we could take breaks," he smirked.

"Why don't you go and book us a suite and we can take a break before we go back to work?" she suggested playfully.

Matthew blinked, processing her words. "Now that's just cruel. I know you're just teasing."

"You know nothing of the sort," she smiled saucily. "Get us a suite, leave the key for me at the front desk and I promise I'll come upstairs the moment I'm done."

He eyed her suspiciously. "An afternoon dalliance? I don't believe it."

"Fine, be that way," she shrugged. "If you don't get us the suite, then you'll never know just how far I would have gone, will you?"

He frowned as they reached the restaurant.

"How much time are we talking about, here?" he asked.

Mary thought for a moment. "I'll give you an hour," she said finally. "One hour from the moment I walk through the door, and you get to make the rules."

He gulped as his eyes went wide.

"Still think I'm bluffing?" she smirked.

"Ah, there you are! Mary! Matthew!" a voice called.

Mary blinked and turned away from Matthew.

"Papa," she said, smiling nervously and squeezing Matthew's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I came over with your Mama," Robert smiled, kissing Mary on both cheeks and shaking Matthew's hand. "Don't worry, I won't be intruding on your Ladies' Tea. I just thought I would have a drink with Matthew while we wait."

"Ah," Matthew said cautiously.

"I think Matthew's going back to the office, Papa," Mary said.

"Nonsense!" Robert smiled, looking at Matthew. "You have time for a quick drink, don't you, my boy? Don't force me to order you to do so. I am the President, you know."

Matthew laughed politely and looked at Mary knowingly.

"Of course," he nodded, turning and kissing Mary's cheek. "Enjoy yourself, darling."

"You too," Mary said, looking at her father, then turning and going into the restaurant.

"Shall we?" Robert said, putting his hand on Matthew's shoulder and motioning to the bar.

"Lead on," Matthew said with false enthusiasm.

* * *

Matthew took a sip of his Coke, eyeing the Earl warily. It wasn't unusual for Robert to suggest they have a drink. They usually took drinks together after dinner, and had done so just a few nights ago at Grantham House. Mary and Matthew had done an admirable job of acting normal around the Earl, but Matthew could tell she was slightly uncomfortable being around him. For his part, Matthew didn't know what to think. Though he and Robert had never been overly close, he did have a lot of respect for the man. Growing up, Robert Crawley was synonymous with Crawley Group, the most successful businessman that Matthew knew, a true mogul, the head of an empire. Over the years, Matthew learned that Robert was the beneficiary of the work of his predecessors, and not necessarily the all-knowing entrepreneurial genius that he made himself out to be. It was a far leap from the man Matthew thought he knew to an alleged terrorism profiteer though.

"Matthew, I have a rather serious subject to discuss with you," the Earl said, putting his glass of brandy down.

"Oh?" Matthew replied, cringing slightly at his less than eloquent reply. "Regarding what?"

"Well, it's been eleven months that you've been with us, more or less," Robert said. "And nearly that long that you and Mary have been…involved."

"Yes?" Matthew agreed, wondering where this was going.

"I feel it is my obligation, both as President of the company, and as Mary's father, to inquire as to what your intentions are," Robert said, watching him carefully.

"My intentions?" Matthew repeated.

"Yes," Robert nodded. "You told me a few weeks ago that you intended to stay for the long term. You also said that you and Mary were quite happy together. You can appreciate that Cora and I are…curious…as to what your intentions are towards our daughter."

"Curious…" Matthew said.

"Yes, curious," Robert nodded. "Now, Cora is far more anxious than I am. I can appreciate that a man of your age, and position, is perfectly happy to live each day as it comes. Cora, on the other hand, would like to see Mary settled, sooner rather than later. I'm sure you can understand that."

"I can, yes," Matthew said.

"Mary is young, of course, but remember that when Cora was Mary's age, she was already married and was expecting with Edith, our second child. Now, Mary has obviously been far more career oriented, but as a result, Cora is more nervous about her future. She doesn't want her to wait too long to get started on a family," Robert explained.

"I see," Matthew nodded.

"Now, if you were someone that Mary had just met, I certainly could appreciate that you would need more time to get to know one another better, to judge if you are truly compatible for the long term. But, honestly, Matthew, you and Mary have known each other since you were children. There are no secrets here, are there?" Robert smiled.

"Not between the two of us, no," Matthew said.

"Precisely," Robert nodded. "So, you can understand that Cora wonders what reason you might have to…wait…to make a more serious commitment to Mary. I've managed to hold her off for you, but you know how the Season is. Everyone has a big announcement of some kind, or a wedding to invite us to and such. It makes Cora more nervous."

"Well, I wouldn't want the family to be concerned," Matthew offered.

"No, of course you wouldn't," Robert smiled. "And truly, Matthew, I think you can help Mary to settle down a little bit."

"Settle down?" Matthew questioned.

"Yes," Robert said. "She's done well for herself in the company, but it's time she focused on what's truly important for her – a husband, a family, managing a household of her own. She can't run the casinos for the rest of her life, you understand?"

"I think Mary would say she's perfectly capable of filling numerous roles, just as you have," Matthew noted.

"It's not the same, Matthew," Robert scoffed. "With Cora at home dealing with the girls, I was able to focus my efforts on the company. Each of us knew our role and carried out our duties faithfully. Now, in today's more modern times, I appreciate that you young people have different views on what you expect from life. But, take it from me, Matthew, there are still some universal truths that remain."

"Such as a mother should concern herself with raising her children?" Matthew said.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Robert said. "Both you and Mary are in a privileged position, keep in mind. You both have career flexibility, thanks to me and to the company. You can each step back and devote yourself to each other and to starting a family without reservation or distraction. With me as President, the company will not suffer from your absences, and when the time is right, you can resume your duties, and Mary can return in a limited role."

"I don't envy the person who will have to tell Mary what is in store for her," Matthew shook his head, taking another sip.

"Don't worry about that," Robert said. "Cora will ensure that Mary is well aware of what is expected of her. She always does."

Matthew nodded, staring at his drink thoughtfully, his mind in a state of disbelief.

"Well, then. We understand each other, don't we?" Robert smiled.

"Yes, I believe that we do," Matthew said, picking up his drink again.

"Good," Robert said, taking a sip of brandy. "Because you know, Matthew, if Cora doesn't feel as though there is progress being made in that regard, she'll take measures of her own."

"Such as?" Matthew frowned, holding his drink suspended near his lips.

"Well, Mary has never lacked for suitors, Matthew, you know that well enough," Robert said lightly. "If she believes that you aren't moving your relationship forward appropriately, then she will consider encouraging someone else to approach Mary."

"I would be interested to see how she would try that," Matthew said, his eyes narrowing.

"It's an unfortunate business, I admit," Robert said sympathetically. "That's why I try to stay out of such matters. The girls and who they ought to be matched with are Cora's domain, not mine. However, I think it's safe to say that Mary's loyalty is to her family, above all. That's how she was raised, and she's always done her duty. I would be very sad to see you go, Matthew, but if Cora pushes for it, Mary will move on to a man who is more willing to pledge himself to her."

"I see," Matthew said, taking a drink and gritting his teeth as he swallowed.

"Good," Robert smiled. "I must say I'm ever so pleased that we can speak so openly and honestly with each other, Matthew."

"Likewise, Robert," Matthew said, setting his glass down and rising from the bar. "If you'll excuse me, I just need to go check in with the office on a few matters."

"Of course," Robert nodded, shaking Matthew's hand. "We'll see you tomorrow night at Lord and Lady Sinderby's party, yes?"

"Certainly," Matthew nodded, turning and walking briskly from the bar. Robert went back to his drink, not bothering to watch as Matthew strode deliberately to the front desk.

* * *

"Yes, sir, how may I help you?" the front desk clerk said brightly as Matthew approached.

"What signature suites do you have available at the moment?" he demanded, taking out his credit card and driver's license and slapping them down on the counter.

"Erm, we're rather full at the moment, sir, and most of the suites are being made up," she said. "If you wanted to wait for this evening, then I'm sure that some more would become…"

"What's available right now?" he asked firmly.

"Well, erm, the Terrace Suite is available, sir," the clerk said crisply. "It has two bedrooms, designed by Guy Oliver and features the largest terrace in Mayfair. There's a private elevator for you which…"

"I'll take it," he interjected. "Until tomorrow."

"Very good sir, that will be five thousand pounds with taxes and service…" she said.

"Fine," he said, waving his hand.

"Yes, sir," she nodded, swallowing nervously as she processed the payment on Matthew's credit card. "And how many keys will you be requiring?"

"Two," he said curtly. "I'll leave one here for my guest to pick up."

"Of course, sir," the clerk said, discreetly placing a small envelope on the counter.

Matthew scrawled Mary's name on the envelope and returned it to the clerk. He took back his black card, driver's license and his room key.

"The elevator is across the lobby, sir," the clerk said, pointing in the direction of the elevator. "Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, turning and walking quickly to the elevator, a scowl across his face. Reaching the elevator, he stepped inside and waved his key card across the scanner. As the elevator doors closed, he took out his mobile and sent a text message.

* * *

"Lord Sinderby is quite eager to host everyone," Violet nodded.

"Lady Sinderby has a new painting that she wishes to show off, from what I've heard," Cora smiled. "And the ballroom has been renovated, so I'm sure we'll be spending most of our time in there."

"Who's catering the party?" Edith asked, sipping her tea.

"Ampersand," Cora nodded. "I quite like them."

"Won't Atticus be there?" Sybil asked, smiling at Rose.

Rose rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sure, actually," Cora said. "I didn't bother to ask if he came back or not."

"Oh, I expect he will be," Violet said. "He wasn't planning to, but then he ended up changing his mind and booking a flight rather suddenly."

"How curious," Sybil said, smiling at Rose knowingly.

Rose sighed audibly, and took another sip of tea.

Mary smiled at her cousin, then blinked as she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She took it out and looked at it quickly, her eyebrow arching as she read Matthew's message.

"Well, thank you all," she said, standing up and going over to kiss her Mama and Granny. "I'm afraid that I haven't any more time to spare."

"You work far too hard, Mary," Cora shook her head.

"Well the company won't run itself, Mama," Mary retorted, squeezing Sybil's hand as she rounded the table. "I'll see all of you tomorrow."

They all said their goodbyes and Mary walked quickly out of the restaurant, heading over to the front desk and retrieving the key that Matthew had left for her. She made her way to the private elevator, swiping her key card and looking nervously up at the numbers as the lift rose swiftly to the suite where Matthew was waiting for her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Previously:**

 **Espelette Restaurant, The Connaught Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, July 2015**

"Lord Sinderby is quite eager to host everyone," Violet nodded.

"Lady Sinderby has a new painting that she wishes to show off, from what I've heard," Cora smiled. "And the ballroom has been renovated, so I'm sure we'll be spending most of our time in there."

"Who's catering the party?" Edith asked, sipping her tea.

"Ampersand," Cora nodded. "I quite like them."

"Won't Atticus be there?" Sybil asked, smiling at Rose.

Rose rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sure, actually," Cora said. "I didn't bother to ask if he came back or not."

"Oh, I expect he will be," Violet said. "He wasn't planning to, but then he ended up changing his mind and booking a flight rather suddenly."

"How curious," Sybil said, smiling at Rose knowingly.

Rose sighed audibly, and took another sip of tea.

Mary smiled at her cousin, then blinked as she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She took it out and looked at it quickly, her eyebrow arching as she read Matthew's message.

"Well, thank you all," she said, standing up and going over to kiss her Mama and Granny. "I'm afraid that I haven't any more time to spare."

"You work far too hard, Mary," Cora shook her head.

"Well the company won't run itself, Mama," Mary retorted, squeezing Sybil's hand as she rounded the table. "I'll see all of you tomorrow."

They all said their goodbyes and Mary walked quickly out of the restaurant, heading over to the front desk and retrieving the key that Matthew had left for her. She made her way to the private elevator, swiping her key card and looking nervously up at the numbers as the lift rose swiftly to the suite where Matthew was waiting for her.

 **Chapter 26:**

 **Terrace Suite, The Connaught Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, July 2015**

Mary found him out on the terrace.

On her way up to the suite in the private elevator, she didn't know what exactly would happen when she reached the suite. Matthew had texted her to confirm the room key was waiting for her at the front desk, and a simple _'I need you now'_. He never used exclamation marks or emoticons, so it was impossible to tell his mood and tone from a text message, but there was something peculiar about his choice of words. It didn't sound like him. It didn't sound like the flirty, cheeky Matthew that she knew. _'I need you now'_ wasn't something he would say to draw her upstairs for a naughty interlude before they went back to the office. He would have written something like _'Get your ass up here now'_ or _'I hope you're feeling energetic'_ , perhaps even _'You won't last the full hour'_. It was remarkable how confident and almost arrogant he was with her now when it came to their bedroom activities. But _'I need you now'_ made him sound almost sad, or desperate.

Even still, she half-expected him to jump her the moment she stepped off the lift into the marble entrance lobby. When she didn't find him poised to ambush her, she walked through the spacious living room and into the master bedroom, wondering if he would be waiting for her in bed naked. She frowned when he wasn't there. She frowned again when she saw him outside on the large terrace.

She approached him slowly, stepping through the open doors on to the stone tile. He was leaning over the glass balcony. His shoulders were tense, and she imagined he was scowling, even though she couldn't see his face. His posture was anything but seductive or enticing. He didn't look ready for sex. He looked like he was contemplating jumping off.

Of course Mary expected that the conversation between Matthew and her Papa would not have gone well. Regardless of the topic of discussion, Matthew would have been constantly thinking of the deplorable questions that they had of Papa. She knew that there would be no confrontation. Matthew could be emotional, but he was perfectly capable of keeping secrets. She expected he would set aside whatever nonsense Papa spewed at him and they would resume their day together after she was done with tea. As she looked upon him now, he didn't look unaffected at all.

Putting on a brave face, she smiled and approached him. Her heels clicked on the stone, making it impossible to mask her approach. He didn't turn around, so she came up behind him and closed her arms around his waist.

"If you're going to have me out here, we'll be the talk of Mayfair. I doubt I could be quiet enough so that we won't attract attention," she joked, leaning against his shoulder.

He hummed sadly and covered her gloved hands with one of his. Turning his head, he kissed her lightly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the stress in his face.

"Nothing," he said quietly, shrugging in a rather pathetic attempt to fool her.

"What's wrong," she repeated, a bit more firmly. "Tell me."

He sighed and turned around to face her, his hands falling to her hips and pulling her close.

"It's Papa, isn't it?" she said.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, entirely unconvincingly.

"Because I've been here for at least five minutes and we're still both fully clothed," she said, arching her eyebrow. "What did he say?"

"He said plenty," he grumbled. "But it was more what was implied that truly bothers me."

"And that was?" she prompted him.

"Exactly what I suspected when I discovered his phone call with Hightower. He never wanted me to come here to save the company," he sighed. "I'm just a placeholder, a pawn. He needed someone to fill Patrick's spot, limit the damage done to that division, keep things running status quo while he kept all the power as President."

"He told you that?" she frowned.

"He said that you and I were in a privileged position," he huffed. "He said that with him as the President, we could step away for a time and come back in a limited capacity in the future."

"A limited capacity?" she exclaimed. "Why would we have to step away?"

"Because apparently my only real purpose, according to your father, is to get you pregnant and fall in line with his orders," he said bitterly. "I don't think he ever sees himself handing over the company to either one of us. We're supposed to bring in the next generation of Crawleys and that's that."

"What?" she hissed. "But that's ridiculous! He can't run the company without us!"

"I know," he nodded. "But he seems to think that we aren't so indispensable. He made it sound as though he and Cora are more concerned about your marriage prospects than all that you've accomplished in your career, or who will succeed him as President of the company."

"Well, that's not surprising," she rolled her eyes. "They've always held my ovaries in higher regard than my brain."

He frowned, then kissed her softly, his eyes finding hers.

"I know you always joke about that subject, but I still believed that when it came down to it, your parents wouldn't be able to ignore your brilliance in good conscience," he said.

"Who says that Papa and Mama have a conscience?" she scoffed. "Oh, Matthew, don't pity me. I've been putting up with Papa's ignorance for my entire life. It will take far more than you saying my parents don't have faith in my abilities to shock me now, particularly in light of all that we've learned as of late."

"I don't know if I could endure all that you have," he shook his head.

"Nonsense," she scolded him lightly. "You've been on your own for far longer than I. Both of us have survived more than our fair share of storms, and we'll get through this one."

He kissed her again, more firmly and gratefully this time.

"My chat with Robert did convince me of one thing, though," he stated.

"Only one?" she smiled. "And what is that, pray?"

"Regardless of what Robert did, or didn't do, back in 2005, a confrontation is unavoidable now," he shook his head. "Even if there is some plausible explanation for what we've discovered, his vision for the future of the company is in direct opposition to mine, and that cannot continue."

"I thought you weren't interested in the President's chair?" she asked.

"I'm not," he frowned. "But I won't stand by and let Robert ignore our contributions and opinions and lead Crawley Group to ruin."

"And you don't think there's any hope of finding common ground?" she asked.

"None," he sneered, turning away from her and holding on to the balcony. "If you had only heard what he said, Mary, the absolute gall and arrogance to suggest what he did. He thinks he can play God with our lives, that he has some entitlement to decide what path we will follow. It was all I could do not to punch him in the face."

"I don't think I've ever seen you so furious over something," she frowned, coming to his side and looking at him with concern.

"I am furious!" he growled. "I'm incensed! I didn't come here to be manipulated, nor have the Earl of Grantham play with my life. It's shameful and disrespectful for him to act as though I don't have a say in my own future."

"Darling, you need to calm down," she said gently, touching his arm. "Take it from someone who knows, it won't do any good to get yourself all worked up about Papa. Even if you are to go against him eventually, being angry now won't help."

"I know," he said heavily, closing his eyes for a moment and nodding. "I just wish there was something I could do to get rid of this…rage. I considered punching one of the walls earlier but they seem to be rather sturdy, plus the hotel would probably charge me for the damage."

She chuckled at his dry humour. Reaching out and rubbing his shoulder, she frowned when she felt the tension in his frame.

"Maybe there is something you can do," she said. "Something to symbolise your independence, affirm that you won't be controlled by my father."

"And what is that?" he asked her suspiciously. "I've already done my fair share of screaming. It didn't make me feel any better."

"You can take all of your anger, all of your frustration, all of your fury," she smiled. "And focus it on me."

He blinked in shock and stepped back from the balcony. "Mary…"

"What better way to show that you are your own man," she said sultrily, backing him towards the bedroom door. "Then to ravish the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter a mere four floors above where he's currently sipping his brandy?"

"Mary, that's not what I meant when I…" he grunted as his back hit the outside wall of the suite.

She closed the distance between them before he could move, holding his wide-eyed stare, running one hand slowly down his front.

"He thinks he can take whatever he wants from you, Matthew," she said. "You're nothing to him. He thinks he can take you out of Manchester, away from your business, install you to fix Patrick's mistakes and as soon as all your hard work and effort starts paying dividends, he means to take that away from you as well."

He swallowed as her fingers trailed lightly across his stomach and below his belt.

"So why don't you take something for yourself?" she whispered, smiling at him wickedly. "Take me. Take me inside, put me on my knees and make me swallow all of you."

He gasped loudly, his cheeks flushing while his blood seemed to follow the direction of her hand.

"And when I beg you for more, and I will beg you, Matthew," she teased. "Throw me on my back and show me who Lord Grantham's daughter truly belongs to."

"Mary!" he rasped as she touched his arousal. "It wouldn't be right! I didn't call you up here to have…"

"Angry sex?" she smiled, arching her eyebrow at him. "There's nothing wrong with angry sex, darling, so long as both of us know what we're getting ourselves into."

She pressed against him, stroking him though his trousers and bringing her mouth to his ear.

"And you want to, don't you?" she drawled. "You want to manhandle me. And I want you to, darling. I want you to make me scream."

"God, Mary!" he groaned, his head falling back and hitting the brick of the wall. "Argh! Ow!"

"See? Fighting it will only cause you pain and discomfort," she smiled, kissing his cheek. "And I can make you feel much, much better."

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, his tongue finding hers as she arched against him. She hummed in delight, one hand coming around his back while the other continued to stroke him.

"Mary," he whispered, drawing back and looking into her eyes. "I want to fuck you so badly."

"Then do it," she said, kissing him. "Fuck me."

"Not here. Not like this," he said. "You deserve far more than that."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, stopping her hand and bringing it up from between his legs to slap his chest lightly.

"You really are maddeningly righteous, sometimes," she glared at him.

He smiled and kissed her softly.

"I'll show you otherwise tonight," he promised. "For now, let's get back to Crockfords."

"All right," she smiled, kissing him quickly. "But don't blame me if you're in a mood for the rest of the day."

"You've already made me feel much better than when I first got here," he smiled, taking her hand and leading her back into the suite. "Thank you for listening to me rant."

"You can always count on me," she nodded, squeezing his hand.

"I know that," he said as they walked over to the private lift and went inside. "Here, take this."

He reached into his pocket and handed her his car keys.

"What's this for?" she frowned, looking at him curiously as he leaned against the elevator wall, his arm around her.

"You drive," he said. "I'm too worked up. I might get us in an accident."

"You're letting me drive your car?" she blinked in surprise. "My, you must have hit your head harder than I thought."

"Well, Crockfords is just a few minutes away," he smiled.

"That's what you think," she retorted, kissing him as she clutched his keys. "I intend to take the long way back."

He laughed and kissed her again as the elevator took them down to the lobby.

 **Home of Lord and Lady Sinderby, Belgravia, London, England, July 2015**

Sybil took a glass of champagne from the server and walked across the ballroom to rejoin her Mama and sisters. The party was in full swing now, the ballroom full of revelers as a small orchestra played in the corner. Despite her general boredom with Season parties, Sybil had to admit that this one was quite fun so far. The food was delicious and the company was surprisingly enjoyable. She'd already ran into numerous old friends and classmates that she hadn't seen in ages, and they were all remarkably well-adjusted and normal, for the most part. As Sybil walked around the edge of the dance floor, she frowned as her cousin Rose was approaching her in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Sybil asked. "I was just getting a drink."

"I couldn't stay in that conversation for another moment," Rose rolled her eyes. "Your mother was basically going around the circle doling out advice. I decided to vanish before it was my turn in the gallows."

"It can't have been that bad," Sybil frowned. "You like it when people try to give you advice so you can shut them up."

"Well, I've had quite enough of it for tonight," Rose said indignantly.

Sybil was about to respond when she saw a light flash on Rose's skirt.

"What's that?" Sybil asked.

"What's what?" Rose shrugged.

Sybil blinked. "That light. That's your phone in your pocket!"

"What?" Rose exclaimed, glancing down at her skirt. "Oh, well I must have rubbed against it by accident or something."

Sybil's eyes narrowed and she shook her head at her cousin. "You fucking bitch. You're taking off to go call Jack!"

"What? No! Why would I do that?" Rose scoffed.

"You tell me!" Sybil shot back. "You haven't spoken to anyone else besides me and Matthew the entire time you've been here, and it isn't as if you're working, so the only other reason you would be using your phone is to…"

Rose lifted her chin and tried to look innocent.

"Rose!" Sybil's jaw dropped. "You've been sexting Jack?!"

Rose blushed and glanced around to make sure no one had overheard them.

"You should read some of the things he comes up with!" Rose giggled, raising her eyebrows. "For an IT specialist, his mind is absolutely filthy!"

"Oh, God!" Sybil groaned. "Well, at least go and do it somewhere private and out of the way. I can just see Granny noticing and asking you who you're talking to on your phone. Then you'll really be in shit."

"Oh come on, Sybil," Rose said, her eyes twinkling. "Auntie Violet is the most vulgar one of us all when she wants to be."

Sybil rolled her eyes as she watched her cousin head off to the nearest exit. She sighed and returned to the other end of the room where her Mama, Granny, Aunt Rosamund, Mary and Edith were standing together.

"Ah, Sybil, there you are," Mary said, looking at their mother pointedly. "You're just in time to hear Mama regale us with her modern ideas on a woman's role in the 21st century. Mama? Why don't you repeat what you just said so Sybil can benefit from your sage wisdom?"

Sybil frowned in confusion at Mary's sarcastic tone.

Cora rolled her eyes and shook her head at her eldest daughter.

"Mama's wondering why Matthew hasn't proposed yet," Edith said.

"But they haven't been together for even a year," Sybil noted.

"Exactly," Mary said, glaring at their mother.

"How long has it been?" Rosamund asked Cora.

"Matthew arrived last September," Cora replied.

"But we didn't start dating until November," Mary interjected. "It hasn't been quite eight months yet."

"Eight months where you've spent every day and night together," Cora countered.

"Mama!" Mary gasped.

"Don't think that I didn't know," Cora remarked. "I expect more credit than that."

"I certainly didn't tell her," Violet shook her head.

"Even more reason for him to pledge his future to you, if he's a gentleman at all," Rosamund sniffed. "Acting like husband and wife is still not being husband and wife. It's unseemly."

"Please spare me the lecture," Mary rolled her eyes. "It's 2015, for God's sake, not 1915."

"That is why we've tolerated your behaviour, and Matthew's," Cora said. "But this…arrangement…cannot continue indefinitely, Mary. Surely you can see that. What will people think the longer you keep living with this man with no commitment?"

"We aren't living together!" Mary objected.

"Semantics and technicalities," Rosamund scoffed. "You're spending your nights with him, and you aren't married. That alone is bad enough, regardless of what you call it."

"Be that as it may," Mary recovered. "Tell Sybil why you're truly so concerned. You're afraid that if I wait much longer, I'll end up barren, and since my greatest ambition in life is to bear my husband's children, time is wasting."

"Mama!" Sybil said in alarm. "Mary's only 27. She has more than enough time to start a family."

"Mary's turning 28 in three days," Cora corrected her. "And I never said she would end up barren."

"You said that at my age, you already had one daughter and that you were pregnant with Edith," Mary said. "And we all know you'd rather I be popping out babies than running the casinos."

"I'm simply curious as to what Matthew is waiting for," Cora said. "He has a long history with both you and with our family. What is there that concerns him that he hasn't committed to you yet?"

"Nothing concerns him!" Mary said defensively. "We're enjoying being together, and I see nothing wrong with that."

"Neither do I," Edith nodded.

"But the two of you have discussed the future, haven't you?" Rosamund asked. "There is an expectation that eventually you will settle down together?"

"We've discussed the future," Mary said. "Just not in great detail."

"No, why ever would you want to do that?" Cora deadpanned.

Mary huffed in annoyance.

"My dear," Violet said. "Divorce is a nasty business for our sort of people. You really should be clear on where the two of you are heading, so that you are certain that Matthew is the right man for you."

"Granny, how can you say that? You love Matthew!" Mary said. "You've been one of our biggest supporters."

"Yes, I love Matthew very dearly," Violet nodded. "And nothing would make me happier than to see the two of you together as husband and wife, but I admit I am surprised that a man of Matthew's diligent nature has not seen fit to discuss marriage, or at the very least, the future, with the woman he has pined for most of his adult life."

Rosamund and Cora looked at Mary intently.

Mary shook her head and took a sip of champagne.

"Speaking of your birthday," Edith said, filling the silence. "What are your plans?"

"I don't know," Mary said tightly. "Matthew hasn't told me what we're doing yet."

"Don't worry, darling," Cora smiled coldly. "I'm sure he's at least thought about it."

* * *

"You're a bad, bad man, Mr. Ross," Rose grinned, keeping her voice low as she curled up in the large chair facing the window.

"But you like it when I'm bad, don't you, Lady Rose?" Jack replied over the phone. "At least, that's what you told me before you left for London."

Rose blushed, recalling her last night with Jack before she flew out of Vietnam. "I don't know what you're referring to. It must have slipped my mind."

"Shall I send you a photo to refresh your memory?" he asked thickly. "Or do you want the video version instead?"

Rose gasped and covered her mouth. "I can't believe I let you film us," she whispered.

"You let me?" he laughed. "We used your camera! I was just holding it. You were the one giving the directions. Don't you remember telling me you wanted to see what it looked like to have your lips around my…"

Rose lowered the phone and frowned when she heard footsteps outside the door. Blinking in alarm, she turned off her phone and leapt from the chair, launching herself on to the window seat and pulling the drapes closed behind her as the door opened.

"In here," a deep voice, who Rose recognized as Lord Sinderby said.

"Finally a moment's peace," another man replied as the door closed behind them. "The party has been a smashing success, Daniel, but I feel as if I've been on my feet for hours."

Rose blinked. Lord Sinderby's companion was her Cousin Robert.

"Well, this should buck you up a bit," Lord Sinderby said, going over to the bar and pouring both men a drink. "From my private collection. Aged over 40 years."

"That's fantastic," Robert exclaimed, savouring the Scotch. "Thank you for sharing it."

"My pleasure," Lord Sinderby replied. "Rachel says that your party will be the grandest of the grand, so it's only fitting that I spare no expense to entertain you tonight."

"Whatever Cora's told her is exaggerated, I'm sure," Robert laughed.

"Still though, there must be a special occasion?" Lord Sinderby asked. "Why else would you recall Hugh's troubled daughter to be part of the festivities?"

Rose frowned.

"One has very little to do with the other," Robert waved his hand dismissively. "I called Rose back to try and start bridging the gap between us and putting the past where it belongs, and also because I was hoping to announce my daughter's engagement at our Season party and it would be nice if her cousin could be there for that. Rose is close to all of the girls."

"But?" Lord Sinderby asked.

"But I'm not so sure there will be an announcement where Mary is concerned," Robert said disdainfully. "At least, not as of yet."

"Pity," Lord Sinderby said. "It would be unfortunate if you allowed young Matthew Crawley to escape."

Rose's ears perked up.

"He and Mary would be very happy together, I believe," Robert nodded.

"And you would welcome him, and his business to the family with open arms," Lord Sinderby smiled.

Robert huffed.

"Oh, come on, Robert," Lord Sinderby said. "It's common knowledge how well the young man is doing. Your casino takings are up while everyone else's are down, and I've seen the estimates for the online market. Even if he only has a small percentage, he's got to be raking it in hand over fist."

"Matthew has his uses, yes," Robert admitted grudgingly. "But I'm more interested in his ability to make Mary happy. I want a good man for her, a strong man. I believe Matthew can be that man."

Rose could not help but smile.

"So you don't care about his operations at all, then?" Lord Sinderby asked incredulously.

"I didn't say that," Robert replied. "But, if my plans go as expected, I'll have a special announcement of my own to make next month, and it will reduce the need for me to rely upon Matthew for anything other than my daughter's happiness."

Rose held her breath.

"Now that sounds intriguing," Lord Sinderby laughed. "What are you up to, Robert?"

"You'll find out in August, not a moment before," Robert smiled, finishing the rest of his drink. "Now, let's get back out there. The lads will wonder where we've gone off to."

"To say nothing for our wives," Lord Sinderby nodded. He walked over and opened the door. "After you."

Robert walked out and Lord Sinderby followed. He closed the door behind him and the sound of their footsteps disappeared down the hall.

Rose waited five full minutes before peeking out from behind the drapes. Satisfied that she was alone, she quietly got down from the window seat and went to the door. She listened for any sound coming from the hallway, and when she deemed it safe, she quickly slipped out of the study and made her way back to the ballroom, trying to appear casual. Once she was safely back among the crowd, she took out her mobile, turned it back on and texted an apology to Jack and an urgent message to Matthew.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

"I'm getting rather tired of uncovering more mysteries to solve," Matthew grumbled, pulling back the duvet and getting into bed.

"Would you rather Rose hadn't overheard Papa and we didn't know that he was planning something for the Season party?" Mary asked, putting her phone on the nightstand.

"No, I suppose not," he sighed. "Every little bit of information helps."

"Quite right," she nodded, turning on her side to face him. "I'd say it was a lucky stroke. Did she explain why she was hiding out in Lord Sinderby's study though?"

"No," he shook his head. "I imagine it was an attempt to escape the party for a few moments. I could have used some of that."

"You're not the only one," she rolled her eyes. "Dealing with Mama, Granny and Aunt Rosamund at the same time was draining. I felt as though I was being interrogated by The Weird Sisters."

"I'm sorry darling," he smiled, putting his arm out so she could come over and snuggle against his chest. "What great matter were they questioning you on this time?"

"Nothing important," she replied evenly. "Although Edith did ask what was the plan for my birthday."

"Ah," he smiled. "I'll have to call her tomorrow to fill her in."

"And what about me?" she asked when he did not volunteer anything else.

"What about you?" he asked innocently.

"Don't you think that I have a right to know what's going on for my own birthday?" she demanded, turning her head and looking at him.

"No, honestly I don't," he said smugly.

"Well then, perhaps I'll make my own plans," she rolled her eyes. "I'll see if Henry wants to take me for a drive, or if Evelyn or Tony want to have dinner."

"Go right ahead," he retorted. "If you want to spend your birthday being creeped out, bored to tears or put to sleep, one of those men would suit."

"You're not clever," she frowned, pinching his side. "Not even a little."

"Ow!" he frowned, then laughed. "Come on, that was a little bit witty, you must admit."

"Perhaps a little, tiny, small bit, yes," she smirked at him.

"Never use 'little', 'tiny' or 'small' when we're in bed together, please," he groaned.

She laughed and cuddled closer to him. "Fine. Tell me more about your plans for my birthday and I'll consider being nicer to you."

"That's a smooth trick," he smiled. "All right, I'll tell you a little bit about the family part of it."

"As opposed to?" she smiled.

"As opposed to the private part for just the two of us that I assure you is not at all suitable for the family," he said, leering at her.

"All right," she laughed. "Let's hear more about the family part."

"Well, for one thing, it won't be at a nightclub, casino, or similar den of ill repute," he said.

"So I won't be spending my birthday at work. That's good," she smiled.

"Why don't you try not to interrupt when I'm about to divulge these closely guarded secrets?" he said pointedly.

Mary smiled, then ran her fingers across her closed mouth, signalling her lips were sealed.

"We'll start with dinner," he continued. "Somewhere quite nice, that you haven't been to yet, either. All of your family will be there, as will Mother. I'm going to put us at one end with your sisters and Rose, and your parents will be as far from us as we can politely get away with."

She chuckled and nodded for him to continue.

"There will be presents and cake, of course,' he smiled. "And I have recruited Violet to ensure that the grown-ups will leave the rest of us alone once the meal is over. After that, we're going somewhere else with your sisters and Rose. And that, is all that I'm prepared to say."

"If we're going out with the others after dinner, then when will our private celebration be taking place?" she asked.

"You'll just have to see," he said.

"And how will you know if I'm in a proper condition to enjoy it?" she teased. "I might be too drunk or tired by the time that part of the night arrives."

"You won't be too tired," he said confidently. "As for too drunk, well, I'll take my chances."

She laughed and kissed him.

"My mind is buzzing over the possibilities," she smiled. "Are you sure you can't tell me anything else?"

"That's it," he said firmly. "Don't you dare try and bribe or threaten me to tell you more."

"Fine," she grumbled. "I'll relent for now. I still have three more days to get something out of you. In the meanwhile, we need to figure out what Papa is up to."

"Rose is on it," he nodded. "If she can get into Robert's computer, we may be able to find what we're looking for, but it's going to take her a while yet. Besides, if he's got something in the works, we may want to wait until closer to the Season party to dig for information. There may be more incriminating evidence the closer we get to August."

"Or proof that he's innocent in all this," she said.

"Yes, I suppose there could be that," he sighed.

 **Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, Royal Hospital Road, Chelsea, London, England, July 2015**

"And here we are, Lady Grantham, Lady Rosamund," the waiter nodded, pulling out a chair for Violet as another server pulled out a chair for Rosamund.

"This is rather nice," Rosamund noted, looking around the restaurant. "Though strangely empty."

"Matthew reserved the entire restaurant," Violet nodded, adjusting her napkin on her lap. "He didn't want there to be anyone here except for those celebrating Mary."

"How thoughtful of him," Rosamund remarked.

"It was, indeed," Violet agreed.

"Hello Granny, Aunt Rosamund," Edith smiled coming over to their end of the table to greet them. Sybil and Mary came in after her and followed suit, kissing their Granny and Aunt Rosamund in turn.

"Happy Birthday, my dear," Violet smiled at her granddaughter.

"Mary, you look wonderful," Rosamund nodded, appraising Mary's sleeveless blue dress with a flared skirt that stopped just above her knees. "Is that a new dress?"

"And new shoes," Mary nodded. "Matthew bought them for me."

"How nice of him," Rosamund smiled.

"Well, thank you both for coming. I'll stop in and have a chat later," Mary nodded, then turned to go sit down at the other end of the table.

"You didn't mention everything to Aunt Rosamund," Sybil said quietly as they took their seats.

"What do you mean?" Mary frowned. "I told her that Matthew bought me this dress and the Louboutins."

"And your jewellery," Sybil smiled, admiring Mary's diamond necklace and matching earrings.

"Well, she doesn't need to know about everything he bought me," Mary blushed, taking a sip of water. "Besides, she's just as bad as Mama. She doesn't care about Matthew. She just wants to know if and when he's going to give me a ring."

"I must say you're being remarkably mature about all of that business," Edith said.

"What's so shocking about that?" Mary frowned. "I'm in no hurry, and I'm perfectly happy with the way things are. Matthew and I will take the next step if, and when, we're both ready, and not a moment sooner, and I don't care what anyone else thinks."

"You don't care what anyone else thinks of what?" Matthew asked, kissing Mary on the cheek, then doing the same to Edith and Sybil before taking his seat to Mary's left.

"Oh, nothing important, darling," Mary smiled. "Just having sister talk. This restaurant is quite nice. What made you choose it?"

"It's one of only two restaurants in London with three Michelin stars, and we've already eaten at the other one," Matthew explained. "I've been wanting to try it for a while and your birthday presented the perfect opportunity."

"I see," Mary nodded in approval. "And what's on the menu?"

"It's actually a special tasting that they've prepared just for you," Matthew smiled. "I told them some of your favourite dishes and they're going to do a bit of a different version of each one."

"I wonder how they'll interpret the fish and chips course, then?" Sybil joked.

Mary shot her an unamused stare, then got up from her chair to accept greetings and well wishes from Rose, her parents, Isobel, Anna and Alex and other close friends and family who had come in for the party.

Everyone took their seats and drinks and wine were served. The gifts were placed on a side table and Matthew motioned for the string quartet to stop playing as he rose and took up his wine glass. The gathered guests turned to look at him. Mary's smiled in anticipation.

"Before we have the amuse bouche brought out, I'd like to say thank you to all of you for coming, some of you from quite far away, to share this special day with Mary," he said.

Mary looked over and smiled at Rose, who grinned back at her.

"I know we're all eager to begin this wonderful meal that Chef Ramsay and Chef Smyth have prepared for us, so I'll make this short," he smiled. "I've known Mary since we were children and watched her grow from a rather precocious young girl to the formidable woman she is today. I was searching the other day for some witty quotation or clever proverb that I could use tonight to fully describe how I feel about Mary, since my own words are rather lacking, but in the end, I decided that no words could properly do her justice, whether they be mine, or those that I've borrowed from someone else. She is, quite simply, irresistible, and as all of you, friends and family, are each dear to her, I am sure you understand my meaning. So, a toast, to Lady Mary Crawley, on the occasion of her 28th birthday, for all that she has done, and for all that she will do. Cheers."

"Cheers," everyone replied, clinking glasses with each other and saluting Mary at the end of the table.

Matthew took his seat, blushing slightly as he sipped his wine. Mary touched his hand and leaned over towards him.

"That was rather clever," she smiled, kissing him lightly.

"Just a little?" he joked.

"Perhaps a tad more than a little," she grinned, kissing him again.

The string quartet resumed playing and the meal was served. In between courses, Mary and Matthew circulated around the long table, speaking to guests, taking photos and keeping the lively banter going. Given the happy mood, and the deliberate seating arrangement, the amount of time they had to spend with Robert and Cora was kept to a minimum, and by the time the marble birthday cake was brought out, everyone had enjoyed themselves thoroughly.

Mary closed her eyes and made a wish before blowing out the candle on the cake. She cut the first slice, which Matthew promptly took up and fed to her in a decidedly sloppy fashion amidst cheers and shouts from the guests. As Mary wiped the icing from her cheek with her linen napkin, she grinned, allowing Matthew to kiss her quickly, entirely content.

"Lady Mary, your presents," the hostess announced. The side table was wheeled over next to Mary. She went about opening her gifts, thanking each person in turn. By the time she was finished, the assortment of clothes, books, jewellery, and other presents were packed away and brought downstairs to Matthew's car, while the guests all rose from the table and mingled. Mary stood in the centre, delighting in the attention and well wishes. She glanced across the room and spied Matthew speaking with Alex and Isobel, and smiled as she watched him for a moment.

"So?" Anna asked. "Where does this rank on your list of birthdays?"

"Well, the night isn't over yet," Mary replied, smiling at Anna, then glancing back over at Matthew. "So far though, it's rapidly climbing the list."

 **Li Event Space, 34** **th** **Floor, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

"Darling, what are we doing here?" Mary asked, smiling at him as he led her down the hall towards one of the meeting rooms. "I thought this was supposed to be the fun part of the evening?"

"I thought we should have a meeting and discuss some company business, since we have everyone here," he said, arching his eyebrow. "Anna, you brought the slide presentation, didn't you?"

"It's ready to go, Mr. Crawley," Anna nodded.

"You better not be on his side," Mary frowned at her.

Anna just smiled back.

Opening the door to the event space, Matthew ushered everyone inside. They had managed to leave the restaurant and free themselves of the others, such that only Anna, Alex, Sybil, Edith, Rose and some of Mary's friends had come to the hotel. The room was dark as Matthew brought Mary inside and closed the door.

Mary frowned as he escorted her to the centre of the room. Through the windows, she looked down on London Bridge and St. Paul's Cathedral, both landmarks lit up against the night sky.

"Matthew, I still don't…" she began.

Alex turned on the lights and Mary blinked as she took in the room around her. There were leather sofas set up along one end, a side table covered with snacks and drinks, and along another wall was a large projection screen and a set of speakers.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"You'll see," he said mysteriously. "Let's everyone take your seats, please. The show is about to begin."

Matthew brought her over to one of the sofas and sat down with her. Everyone else followed suit. Taking out his mobile, Matthew pressed some buttons and dimmed the lights, and the projection screen flickered to life.

Music played from the speakers as a slide show began playing, the first shot a photo of a newborn Mary swaddled in a white blanket, sleeping in her hospital bassinet.

"Oh my God," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

Edith and Sybil smiled at each other as more photographs followed, with different favourite songs of Mary's accompanying the show. There were pictures of Mary riding her first pony, dancing in school recitals, singing at Downton Abbey while Edith played the piano next to her, photos from various trips she'd taken, and various poses of her on the red carpet of numerous events and at Crockfords. The slideshow closed with a shot of her and Matthew from the recent Pride in London gala, and everyone applauded and cheered as the screen faded to black.

"And what did you think of that?" he asked, smiling at her.

"That," she grinned, kissing him lightly. "Was quite clever."

"Now, now everyone," Sybil announced, as she and Edith got up and walked over to stand in front of the crowd. "As you may have noticed from the slideshow, our beloved sister Mary does enjoy her singing. So, it's only fitting that music be a part of her birthday."

Mary looked up at them in confusion.

The screen flickered once again and Rose came over and handed a wireless microphone to Sybil and Edith, keeping one for herself.

"Oh, God," Mary shouted in shock.

Alex smiled as he typed away on his laptop at the side of the room. Soon, the music video for Beyoncé's _Halo_ came on the screen, complete with karaoke lyrics scrolling along the bottom.

Sybil, Edith and Rose started singing.

"Shut up!" Mary laughed, clapping her hands gleefully.

Matthew put his arm around her shoulders and laughed along with her as they watched the girls go through the song, complete with impromptu dance moves.

"You're up next, you know," he said, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

"Don't think you're going to be spared a turn either," she shot back, arching her eyebrow at him.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

"That was a lot of fun," Mary smiled, tying the sash of her robe as she came out of the bathroom.

"You talk as though you're surprised you had fun tonight," Matthew said, throwing his robe on a chair.

"Well, you were so secretive about what our plans were for my birthday, I think it understandable that I had some trepidation about how the evening would go," she said, coming over to him and putting her arms over his shoulders.

"But I exceeded your expectations?" he asked, lifting his eyebrow at her playfully.

"Yes," she nodded. "You did very well."

He kissed her softly, his hands on her hips. She pushed in closer and deepened their kiss, sighing contentedly as his tongue brushed against hers and his hands slid around to cup her bottom through her robe.

"So, what now?" she asked mischievously. "I heard a rumour about a private party that I was invited to."

"You're the guest of honour, actually," he smiled, kissing her again.

"Ah, does that mean I get special party favours?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

"Most definitely," he smiled, kissing her lightly, then backing her towards the bed.

"My, you're not wasting any time, are you?" she chuckled, running her hands along his chest.

"Just, sit down, please," he smiled, helping her take a seat at the foot of the bed.

She quirked her eyebrow inquisitively as he disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, he came back out, carrying a tray laden with candles.

"Cherry blossom," he smiled, placing the candles around the room and lighting them as he went.

"My favourite," she nodded with approval.

He picked up the empty tray and walked past her, dimming the lights as he went into his walk-in closet.

She waited, crossing her legs and looking at the doorway to his closet. He came out moments later, carrying vases filled with purple, white and pink flowers.

"Larkspur and water lillies," he said, smirking as he placed the vases around the room.

"My birth flowers," she chuckled, grinning as he finished his decorating.

"What do you think?" he asked, coming to stand in front of her.

"They're gorgeous," she nodded, breathing in the scent of the candles and flowers.

"I have a gift for you," he announced.

"Another one?" she asked in surprise. "The dress, shoes and jewellery were already more than enough."

"Well, I have one more for you," he said.

"Is that so?" she smiled, deliberately gazing down his body. "Is it a big one?"

"You have a very naughty mind, Lady Mary," he leered.

"Well, it is my birthday, and this is my birthday party, so I think I can be as naughty as I like," she challenged. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say I'm having rather dirty thoughts at the moment."

He coughed and patted his chest to catch his breath. "Right then, on to your gift."

He went over to the side table and retrieved a box that she hadn't noticed before. Bringing it over to her, he stood in front of her and placed it in her lap.

"Happy Birthday, my darling," he nodded.

She blinked, wondering what it could possibly be. Pulling at the ribbon, she slid it off the box and opened it. Pulling back the tissue paper, her mouth fell open in surprise.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered, taking out a red Burberry scarf and running her hands over the material. "This is beautiful."

"It's actually an exclusive, sort of," he smiled. "It's for the coming holiday collection but won't be released until the fall. I managed to nick one for you."

"You did?" she looked at him dubiously.

"Nicked…bought…what's the difference, really?" he shrugged.

"It's brilliant. I love it," she exclaimed, touching the fabric to her cheek. "Thank you."

"There's actually a deeper significance than it just being a scarf, though," he said quietly.

"A deeper significance?" she blinked. "How so?"

"Well, you see, Mary," he swallowed nervously. "In medieval times, a scarf would signify a knight's colours. He would go into battle under the banner of his lord or King, but he would wear the scarf of his Lady. There were, of course, entirely selfish reasons to do so, but for the true knights, those who had sworn oaths to uphold chivalry, the bond they shared with their Lady was unbreakable. They would do everything in their power to protect her and defend her name and her cause, even should it cost them their lives."

Mary nodded, her gaze turning serious as she looked up at him.

"What I'm trying to say, my darling, is that I give you this scarf to signify my own oath to you. I can only imagine the questions that your family are bombarding you with in private about me, about us, about our future. You and I alone will decide that at the proper time, but right now, Mary, I pledge myself to you, just as I said all those months ago in this same place. I'll fight your corner, support you and be on your side, no matter what happens, no matter what the future holds. For as long as you need me, I'll stand by you."

She slowly rose from the bed, reaching her hand out and caressing his cheek. He brought his own hand up and covered hers.

"If it was anyone else, I would say that was just a horribly sentimental line," she shook her head. "But you know too much to be so reckless and not mean it."

"Just the two of us," he nodded.

"Always," she whispered, pulling him to her and kissing him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

"Happy Birthday, my darling," he nodded.

She blinked, wondering what it could possibly be. Pulling at the ribbon, she slid it off the box and opened it. Pulling back the tissue paper, her mouth fell open in surprise.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered, taking out a red Burberry scarf and running her hands over the material. "This is beautiful."

"It's actually an exclusive, sort of," he smiled. "It's for the coming holiday collection but won't be released until the fall. I managed to nick one for you."

"You did?" she looked at him dubiously.

"Nicked…bought…what's the difference, really?" he shrugged.

"It's brilliant. I love it," she exclaimed, touching the fabric to her cheek. "Thank you."

"There's actually a deeper significance than it just being a scarf, actually," he said quietly.

"A deeper significance?" she blinked. "How so?"

"Well, you see, Mary," he swallowed nervously. "In medieval times, a scarf would signify a knight's colours. He would go into battle under the banner of his lord or King, but he would wear the scarf of his Lady. There were, of course, entirely selfish reasons to do so, but for the true knights, those who had sworn oaths to uphold chivalry, the bond they shared with their Lady was unbreakable. They would do everything in their power to protect her and defend her name and her cause, even should it cost them their lives."

Mary nodded, her gaze turning serious as she looked up at him.

"What I'm trying to say, my darling, is that I give you this scarf to signify my own oath to you. I can only imagine the questions that your family are bombarding you with in private about me, about us, about our future. You and I alone will decide that at the proper time, but right now, Mary, I pledge myself to you, just as I said all those months ago in this same place. I'll fight your corner, support you and be on your side, no matter what happens, no matter what the future holds. For as long as you need me, I'll stand by you."

She slowly rose from the bed, reaching her hand out and caressing his cheek. He brought his own hand up and covered hers.

"If it was anyone else, I would say that was just a horribly sentimental line," she shook her head. "But you know too much to be so reckless and not mean it."

"Just the two of us," he nodded.

"Always," she whispered, pulling him to her and kissing him.

 **Chapter 27:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

Mary opened her eyes, the darkness of night filling her vision as she faced the windows of the bedroom. She blinked several times, then smiled as she felt a warm arm across her chest. Rolling over, she watched Matthew sleep. He was lying on his side, as usual, head nestled in the pillow, lips closed, his breathing slow and gentle. Clumps of his blond hair were sticking out at odd angles, a sign of their recent amorous activities, as was the fact that they were both sleeping naked. She stayed still and watched him, no desire to go back to sleep. She felt remarkably energized and awake, despite just mere hours passing since they'd finished making love and finally gone to sleep.

Matthew had a maddening habit of being able to fall asleep at will, it seemed. He would always wait for her first, either spooning behind her as he had earlier tonight, or just lying down and facing her, not closing his eyes until he saw she had reached a comfortable slumber. She thought it was just a habit of his, perhaps perfected during his years at law school when rest was at a premium, or maybe it was the result of monitoring matches and bets in different time zones across the world. She had stopped trying to understand why he had to stay up late or wake up in the early morning hours to check sports scores from New York or California. Over the months they were together, little idiosyncrasies of his became her new normal, and she found to her surprise that she had adjusted to him quite easily.

She gently lifted his arm off of her and turned away from him, getting out of bed as quietly as she could. Her silk robe was flung across a chair and she padded over to fetch it and put it on. Walking around in the nude would probably please him immensely if he was awake to see it, but she was still bound by propriety in some things. She tied the sash about her waist and wandered over to the door.

She paused at the dresser along the wall, where her red Burberry scarf sat in its open gift box. Reaching out her hand, she ran her fingers over the fabric, the soft wool warm to her touch. After a moment, she pulled away and left the bedroom, going through the living room and getting a bottle of water from the fridge behind the bar.

She wandered over to one of the sofas and took a seat. This was her reserved spot in the living room, where she would curl up with a book, listen to music on her phone, type away on her laptop or watch television. It was strange how she had a claimed place in a hotel suite, but then she had spent more time here than at her own home since last November.

It was so unlike her to become nostalgic, sentimental, or God forbid, philosophical on her birthday. She was twenty-eight, hardly old by any measure. Wasn't thirty the age where a woman took stock of her life? So long as you were married by thirty and had your first child by thirty-five, you were on track, weren't you? She didn't remember who or where she heard that from. It surely wasn't Mama.

Mary always measured her life progress by her career achievements. She graduated from business school early, one of the youngest students in her class. Though it was always understood that she would work at Crawley Group the moment she left school, she still rose up the ranks faster than others thought she would, and certainly faster than Papa expected. Every promotion was another step forward, every new profit record another affirmation that she was doing well for herself. Her family were far from the gushing kind, each of her birthdays more an excuse for Mama to entertain during the Season than a true celebration, or tribute. Sybil and Edith were always kind, but Mary had her own way of determining whether she had a good year or not. It was always about what she had accomplished at work from one year to the next. The status of her friendships was irrelevant, and who her boyfriend happened to be was not even a consideration. If Crawley Group succeeded, then so had she.

She placed the empty water bottle on the coffee table and folded her legs underneath her, glancing at her newly manicured nails before she looked out to the large windows. She had once again accomplished a great deal for the company in the past year. The Ivey trial had been won with minimal publicity, the expansion of Crockfords was well under way, and in a slow economy, her division was once again profitable. In any other year, she would be pleased with her progress and move on to making the next year even better.

Tonight though, having turned twenty-eight mere hours ago, she felt the need to stop and think. She looked back on her past year, and she wasn't entirely sure she liked everything that she saw.

There was a strange sense of loss, as though something was missing, as though her year was incomplete. Losing Patrick had been sad, of course, but that was more a family issue than an individual one for her. She frowned and glanced over at the doorway to the bedroom, her thoughts turning to the man sleeping within.

He had pledged an oath to her, he said, when he gave her the scarf. She had heard such words from him before, though not nearly as explicit. He would support her, he said, the night they had slept together for the first time, the night they had ceased being rivals and shockingly became a couple. And since then, Matthew had been true to his word, committing his time, effort and even his money to her cause, even in those tenuous moments when she feared their relationship would end.

She rubbed her hands together. All this talk of marriage was getting to her. It wasn't uncommon for her Mama, Aunt Rosamund and Granny to raise the subject. Since she was in her teens there was always some boy being discussed as her possible future husband. She very seldom introduced any of her dates to her parents, but when she did, she could tell they were appraising him like a prized pig in a county fair, judging whether he was worthy. None of the others had turned out to be. Some had passed her parents' requirements, but none had come close to approaching her idea of a life partner.

It was dangerous to invest yourself in another person, she always thought. True power came from within. Self-reliance was worth far more than romance. She had never yearned for a hero to stand by her side. She could stand up for herself, thank you.

So why was she sitting here in the dark, contemplating all of Matthew's lovely birthday presents from last night, and wondering why her left hand still looked empty?

She shook her head, hoping to knock some sense into her clearly addled mind. Maybe she had drank too much after all. Of course she was happy with Matthew. She had never been happier, and she didn't feel weak in admitting it. He knew her, her family, her world, better than any man she had ever been with. He could easily take all of her barbs and cutting remarks and throw them right back at her, argue with her vociferously, then kiss her and whisk her off to dinner as though nothing at all was amiss. She always knew he was smart, but she now knew he was also clever, and even wise in some things. She never felt as though she had to hold herself back around him, or spare his ego, put on a false front, or pretend to be demure and docile to meet his expectations. She could be as loud, as bold, and shine as brightly as she wanted to around him and he never took offence, or considered it an insult. With Matthew, more than anyone, including her family, she could be her true self without fear.

They were stronger together now than they ever had been. She knew that was obvious. It wasn't only how well they worked side-by-side, or how they had become one of those disgusting couples who seemed to spend most of their time together, or even that the sex still felt glorious and thrilling. They had an understanding now, a trust, that she had never felt with anyone else before. She knew he still kept secrets, as did she, but everything that was truly important was shared immediately, like when he played her the telephone conversation between Papa and Cyril Hightower, or told her about how there was apparently a plan to phase them out of the company, or how she said she wanted to keep these revelations private between them, and he had agreed. He was on her side, she was certain of it, and these days, with everything she knew about her Papa and the company threatening to crumble, and numerous threats gathered around her, she felt safe with Matthew.

But how long would this last, this feeling of joy mixed with fearless courage, and topped with playful excitement and anticipation? She had never contemplated such things before, never been with someone that caused her to have such thoughts. Believing in a future with Matthew made her surprisingly giddy, but it was also opening herself up to potential hurt and heartbreak. If she were to become Matthew's wife, they would live their lives together, and they would have to compromise on some things, wouldn't they? Where they would live, when they would have children, and how many, what their career paths would be, any number of things. Everything was easy now. They were young and free, rich and powerful, ruling over their divisions and in sync with each other. She used to envision that it wasn't necessarily important who her husband was. She would always be richer and have more status, and would wield the authority in her marriage, the man deemed satisfactory for the role would fall into step. Matthew though, would never just march on command, or grovel at her feet, and she wasn't sure she would want him to. He would want to be her match, her equal partner, and she would want the same from him.

She exhaled and got up to her feet, rubbing her arms as she paced around. Eventually, she returned to the bedroom, used the bathroom, put on a pair of panties and came back to bed.

"You all right?" he mumbled, spooning against her again, his arm coming around and his hand resting just below her breasts.

"I'm fine, darling," she said, snuggling back against him and closing her eyes.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 2015**

"Rose," Robert called, coming into the parlour where his young cousin was sitting on the settee swiping her fingers over her tablet computer.

"Cousin Robert," Rose smiled. "I thought you were out. Sybil mentioned you had meetings today."

"I'm on my way now," he nodded. "I was hoping, though, that you would join Cora and I for dinner this evening. I was going to tell Sybil to pass on the invitation, but I'm glad I was able to catch you myself."

"Of course. Thank you," she nodded. "I don't have any other plans and I would enjoy some family time."

"As would I," he smiled politely. "I wanted to say…that…I'm pleased that you decided to come for the Season. I know that things are rather unsettled with your parents, but I'd like you to feel at home here, with us. Sybil adores you, of course, but I'd like us to be a family, more so than before, at least."

"I'd like that too," she said softly. "And it has been quite fun to be here, much to my surprise. I've been having a wonderful time with Sybil and Edith, but it has felt more like home than ever before."

"Good," he said. "Let's hope that continues."

"I can't see why it wouldn't," she said lightly. "Especially with the family Season party next month. I'm looking forward to it. All the other events are quite nice, but there's something different when it's your own family putting on the show."

"Indeed," he smiled, turning for the door. "Let's hope it proves memorable. Until this evening, then, Rose."

"Cousin Robert," she said politely.

Rose waited patiently, listening for the closing of the door. She glanced out the window and saw Robert getting into the backseat of the waiting Bentley and the car drive off. Looking over her email, she waited another ten minutes before getting up and walking briskly upstairs and down the hall. Checking around to make sure none of the servants were about, she slipped into Lord Grantham's study and locked the door behind her.

 **George IV Pub, London School of Economics, London, England, July 2015**

"I can't believe you're gracing me with your presence," Sybil said sarcastically. "For a while there, I thought you had downgraded us to a texting-only friendship."

"Don't be like that. You know I've been busy," Matthew scoffed, taking a sip of his beer. "Besides, I thought you were all in favour of my relationship with your sister."

"I am, very much so," she shrugged. "So is Edith, and so is Mama and Papa, though for their own reasons. It's just been a while since I've had your attention, is all."

"You have my full attention now," he smiled. "And anyway, when you have a boyfriend, I'm sure you'll cast me to the side and all I'll hear from you is the odd text here and there."

"Well you don't need to worry about that the way things are going," Sybil grumbled. "I haven't had a proper date in months."

"What about all those blokes who were chatting you up at the Sinderbys' party last week?" he asked. "I only got one dance with you all night."

"They were fine for passing the time," she rolled her eyes. "But none of them were particularly interesting."

"I think you're probably a bit too discerning," he laughed.

"Shall I just throw caution to the wind, like Rose?" she countered.

"Oh God, no," he rolled his eyes. "Speaking of which, I hope you haven't been indulging too much with her. Edith told me the two of you were out until dawn the other night."

"Oh, it's just some harmless fun," she shook her head. "We've been spending most of our time just hanging around and talking. You don't need to be afraid that we're out cavorting at some nightclub until the early hours."

"Good," he said. "The two of you are supposed to be keeping each other in check, not amplifying each other's bad habits."

"Yes, sir," she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, you won't need to worry about us tomorrow night. Aunt Rosamund doesn't allow any shenanigans at her party."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," he huffed. "Nothing brings the rebel out in the two of you like a boring Society party."

"Look who's talking," she retorted, taking a forkful of her salad. "Don't think I don't notice when you and Mary just happen to steal away at the same time."

"Get off it," he frowned. "Would either of us dare do anything improper at one of these events? We have reputations to uphold."

"Exactly," she smiled. "That's why it sets up so well for the both of you. No one would ever suspect either one of you being capable of such behaviour."

He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Don't worry about Mary and me. Worry about Rose getting you into trouble, because if she causes a scene, your Mama will marry you off to the next banker or doctor she can find."

"But you'd never let that happen to me, would you?" she smirked, taking a bite of tomato.

"No," he shook his head. "How could I? You're too dear to me."

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 2015**

Rose flipped open Lord Grantham's Ultrabook computer and started it up. She glanced over her shoulder at the locked door and turned back to the computer screen. With Robert away, it was unlikely that Carson or any of the other staff would be coming around the upstairs rooms. Edith and Sybil were gone, so she expected she had time to herself. Having said that, she didn't want to spend too long at this. If she could successfully get into the computer and copy all the files, she could review them later in safety.

The login screen came up and Rose clicked on Robert's personal icon. She knew different algorithms and programs to decipher the password protection, but that would take time. As she stared at the blinking cursor, she thought about what his password could be. It couldn't be overly complicated. This was Cousin Robert, after all.

"Cora…"

"Isis…"

"Pharaoh…"

"MaryEdithSybil…"

"Crawley…"

"123456…"

Rose frowned at the screen. She smiled and tried using Robert's birthday. When that didn't work she huffed and rolled her eyes. What could it possibly be?

She smirked and tried again, biting her lower lip as she wondered if it really could be that easy.

"Pa$$word…"

The screen blinked as the operating system started up and Robert's desktop icons loaded. Rose shook her head in amusement, then quickly logged into her online Cloud storage system and began uploading file folders from Robert's personal hard drive.

 **Law Office of George Murray, Barrister and Solicitor, Fleet Street, London, England, July 2015**

"My Lord," Murray nodded, coming into the small conference room and closing the door behind him.

"Murray," Robert said, turning away from the window and shaking the man's hand before they took their seats at the long table. "I haven't much time. I trust all is well?"

"I sent the latest drafts over this morning," Murray nodded. "I expect comments back sometime next week and everything should be finalized by early August."

"Make sure it is," Robert replied. "I want to make the announcement at our Season party so all must be in place by the first week of next month."

"Yes, my Lord," Murray nodded. The lawyer hesitated, then spoke up.

"My Lord, I feel it is my obligation to once again question this course of action," he said.

"Not this again," Robert scoffed, getting up from his chair and going back to look out the window. "We already talked about this, Murray."

"We did, my Lord," Murray acknowledged. "But you haven't discussed it with Lady Grantham or with Lady Rosamund, and that still gives me great concern."

"It was you who assured me that I had sufficient authority to proceed without requiring their approval," Robert said.

"That is true, my Lord. The President's powers does include the ability to deal with the company's operations and finances without calling a meeting of the Board of Directors," Murray said.

"Precisely," Robert said tightly. "So there is nothing to be concerned about."

"I would think that the reaction to your plans would be of great concern to you," Murray said. "I can't imagine that Lady Grantham would be in favour of it, to say nothing of Lady Mary or Mr. Crawley."

"They don't have to like it, Murray," Robert said, waving his hand dismissively. "Mama will come around to my way of thinking. I can handle her. As for Mary and Matthew, they aren't Board members."

"No, they aren't, my Lord, however they are both officers. You can understand how cumbersome it would be if your Vice-President, Operations, and in particular, your Managing Director were against you on this," Murray said carefully.

"Mary is responsible for her division, not for the overall strategy of the company itself," Robert noted. "As for Matthew, yes, he is the Managing Director, but only because I needed someone to deal with Patrick's division and be more hands-on in the daily operations of the company. Neither of them are tasked with the long term vision of Crawley Group. That is my duty, and mine alone. This plan will ensure the long term health of the company and guarantee its future after I'm gone. Those objectives are more important than any one individual, Murray. Mary and Matthew may not like this at all, but in the end, appeasing them is not my priority."

"Yes, my Lord," Murray nodded. He slid a stack of documents across the table in Robert's direction. "Here are the latest drafts with the updated financials as well."

Robert took one last look out the window and sighed, then turned and sat back down at the table, taking the first document off the stack of papers and flipping through it.

 **The London Library, St. James Square, London, England, July 2015**

Rose sighed, her head tilted to one side, propped up with her hand as she scrolled through the files on her computer. After successfully copying Robert's hard drive, she had erased all signs of her using his Ultrabook, then retreated to her bedroom without being spotted. Changing into comfortable jeans, a plain white shirt and a beige suit jacket, she left Grantham House and came to the library, taking over a corner cubicle far away from prying eyes.

The library was the perfect spot to carry out her task undisturbed. The WiFi network was strong, and the general silence and tendency of visitors to keep to themselves suited her. The majority of Robert's files were copies of financial statements, contracts and reports regarding Crawley Group, and nothing at all controversial. The President used his computer to check email and open attachments, mostly. It wasn't as though he drafted documents or prepared slideshows or presentations himself. Even his browser history was remarkably sparse. After skimming over most of the files, she opened his email and began the tedious process of going over messages going back years. At least he organized them into sub-folders, kind of, which made her work a bit easier.

Not surprisingly, Cousin Robert didn't actively use his email very much. Most of the messages were from Mary or Cora. There were long threads that were essentially family conversations dominated by the daughters, with Robert copied but not participating. There were also reporting emails from Murray, the company lawyer, and Cousin Robert's financial advisors and bankers. As Rose sifted through the chaff, she idly wondered if she might be able to find what Matthew was looking for by attempting to break into Murray's computer. Matthew would likely forbid her from doing that, she thought ruefully. He had no problem sicking her on a deplorable piece of work like Sir Richard Carlisle, but Heaven forbid they should delve into the secrets guarded by lawyers.

Her eyes went wide and she sat up straight as she read a more recent email. Paying attention more closely, she read it again, then opened the attached document, her pulse quickening. The document was rather difficult to comprehend, but she got the gist of it, and frowned as she read it a second time.

"What the bloody F?" she said under her breath.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, July 2015**

Anna frowned as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She turned left and right, examining her profile, then sighed and removed her dress.

"It's hopeless, hopeless," she muttered.

"Why are you so worked up about this?" Alex laughed, looking away from his tablet for a moment and gazing at her from the bed. "The last three dresses you tried on were all perfectly lovely."

"Shows how much you know," she frowned at him. "The first one made me look fat, the second one was too tight and this last one makes me look like I have the chest of a 12-year old boy."

"As wonderful an image as that is, you're wrong," he rolled his eyes, getting up from the bed and walking over to the mirror. He watched her shimmy into a sleeveless orange dress with a pleated skirt, then stepped behind her as she crinkled her brow and shook her head at this outfit as well.

"Why are you so concerned about this?" he sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders and massaging them lightly. "Lady Rosamund will be too busy hosting and entertaining to care about the two of us, and the rest of the family already adores you."

"It's different now," she whinged. "Before, if I was invited at all, it was just as Mary's assistant. My profile is different now. More people know who I am, who we are, and I don't want to look like some simple country girl from Brighton who doesn't properly belong in Society."

"If all girls in Brighton look like you, then I need to spend more time there," he smiled, kissing her cheek softly. "You're gorgeous, and you'd be gorgeous even if you showed up at Lady Rosamund's party wearing a garbage bag."

"That's very sweet, babes, but it's not helping," she scolded him, groaning as she covered her eyes with her hand for a moment. "Everyone at these parties are fascinated by Mary and Mr. Matthew, and we're associated with them. Lady Edith, Lady Sybil and Lady Rose are all used to his sort of thing, but I'm not."

"Then why aren't you bothered about what I'm going to wear?" he asked, his hands moving down to her hips.

"You've got it easy," she said dismissively. "Any one of your tuxedos will do."

"Gee, thanks," he said wryly, kissing the top of her head and walking over to her closet.

"I didn't mean it like that, babes," she shook her head, unzipping her dress and discarding it on to the pile with the others. "It's just that every woman at this party is going to be wearing some designer gown, and I don't have Erdem or Valentino sending me dresses to consider like Mary does."

"No, you don't," he agreed. "And you also won't have the same amount of scrutiny as she will either. We're just a small point of curiosity for now, but after we make our entrance, we'll be forgotten and we can enjoy ourselves."

"I know, but that entrance is what's so important," she sighed, changing into a strapless bra.

"Here, try this," he said, handing her a sleeveless coral mini-dress with an embroidered lace floral pattern that fell just above her knees.

"Hmm," she said, holding it up to her body and looking in the mirror. "Hmm…"

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as she tried on the dress. Adjusting it around her waist and straightening the straps over her shoulders, she nodded at her reflection after a few more moments of examination.

"The hem is a tad short," she said finally.

"Yes, it is," he smiled.

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't bad. I'd need a decent pair of heels to go with it, though."

"Heels," he said, handing her a pair of silver high-heeled shoes.

She put her feet into the shoes and tied the straps. Turning around in a slow circle, she looked at herself from all angles, smiling at last when she faced forward once more.

"This could work," she nodded. "Now I just need to find a matching purse and deal with my jewellery."

"Well, be mindful with all that," he warned, coming behind her again. "Your ability to dazzle some eligible aristocrat might rest on your accessories. I hear there may be a few Dukes or Marquesses in attendance."

"That's a pity," she laughed, turning around and reaching up to put her arms over his shoulders. "I won't have any time for them since I'll be busy beating back all the women trying to get their hooks into you."

"Please," he said. "All the women."

"Are you saying you truly don't notice?" she asked. "Every time we're out together, there's always a few stares thrown your way. Some of them practically drool over you."

"Is that why you gave me four dances back in the beginning when you said I would only get one?" he smirked.

"Possibly," she teased. "I hadn't made up my mind about you yet, but I wasn't going to let anyone else have a turn while I was still mulling it over."

He chuckled and kissed her softly.

"I'm going to go make us some tea," he said, pecking her lips.

"All right," she nodded. "Take it to the living room and I'll come out and let you see the finished ensemble."

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, releasing her and heading out to the kitchen.

Anna turned back to the mirror and smiled, appraising the dress again and liking it much more. She looked over to the doorway, then grinned and went over to her dresser to hunt through her jewellery.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, July 2015**

Mary opened the door and smiled as her cousin stepped inside and exchanged cheek kisses with her. Rose walked into the suite, clutching her handbag.

"Rose," Matthew smiled, getting up from the sofa and kissing her in greeting. "Drink?"

"Yes, please," she nodded, swallowing nervously and sitting down.

Matthew exchanged a concerned frown with Mary, then went to fetch Rose a sparkling water.

"Your message seemed rather urgent," Mary said carefully, coming over and sitting down in a large leather chair.

"It was," Rose nodded, accepting the drink from Matthew. "Or, it is. I'm sorry to come so late but there was a family dinner at the house tonight and I couldn't get away until now."

"That's all right, we weren't asleep," Matthew said, glancing over at Mary. "Now, what's this all about?"

"I managed to get into Cousin Robert's computer today," Rose explained, taking her own laptop out of her handbag and setting it down on the coffee table. "I copied most of his hard drive files and all of his emails and left the house to look them over in a more secure location."

"I see," Matthew said, looking over at Mary worriedly. "And you found something, did you?"

Rose nodded, taking another gulp of her drink. "Most of the files were insignificant, just old financials and reports that I'm sure one of you has already seen. Even the majority of the emails were harmless."

"Papa doesn't really use email," Mary nodded. "He just gets copied on everything."

"Yes, exactly," Rose said, opening her laptop and typing away. She connected to the hotel WiFi network and linked her computer to the large television screen on the wall so that Mary and Matthew could better see what she was doing.

"I flagged a number of emails between Cousin Robert and his bankers and financial advisors, so you can look at them later," she explained, pointing to the subfolders she had created. "I didn't know exactly what I was looking for there, so I just copied whatever there was."

"Good," Matthew nodded. "Now what else did you find?"

"Cousin Robert has been communicating with Mr. Murray quite often for the past few months," Rose said, bringing up another subfolder. "At first glance, I thought it was just company business, but the more I read, the more I realized it was actually a business transaction."

"A business transaction?" Mary repeated. "Well, it would make sense that the company lawyer would be involved, but Papa never mentioned any particular deals to me recently."

"Nor to me," Matthew said grimly. "You're sure it's Crawley Group business and not something of Robert's personal affairs?"

"I don't think I quite know what it is exactly," Rose said. "But it does involve Crawley Group. There's a string of emails dealing with instructions, some mention of draft documents, and meetings and teleconferences to discuss the details."

"Murray would have done most of the work on any deal," Mary said. "Papa wouldn't be involved in the drafting."

"But he would be copied on them," Matthew said. "Murray would never send off drafts to the other side on a business transaction unless he got approval from Robert first. Is that what you found, Rose?"

Rose nodded, her face showing concern. "There's a lot of back and forth, and I didn't understand much of it, but buried in one of the emails was a trail where Murray was corresponding with the other side and copying Cousin Robert as he went."

She scrolled through the email on the screen, columns of arrows indicating past emails that had been copied and included in each subsequent reply. Stopping at a particular old email in the trail, she didn't dare speak.

"What?" Mary blinked, getting up from her chair and walking closer to the television to get a better look. She stared for a moment, then turned back to Matthew. "But that's impossible!"

Matthew stared at the television screen in shock.

"It's Sir Richard Carlisle's email," Rose said, stating what they all saw. "He's the other party on Cousin Robert's business transaction."

Mary and Matthew were silent for a moment, just staring at each other, an entire conversation seeming to pass between their wide eyes.

"Did you find the draft documents?" Matthew asked finally.

"Eventually," Rose nodded, switching from the email on the screen to the browser window and opening another message. She double clicked on one of the attached documents and brought it up on the screen.

Matthew rose from the sofa and walked towards the television. He passed Mary and stood in front of the display, the text of the document so large that he could practically see the pixels of each word.

Rose bit her bottom lip, remaining quiet.

"This…this can't be," Mary whispered, staring at the screen. "It must be wrong somehow."

Matthew didn't answer for a moment, his stomach rolling. He crossed his arms in front of him, a deep frown clouding his face. When he finally spoke, it sounded as though he himself didn't believe the words he was saying.

"It's a merger agreement," he stated.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, July 2015**

"Lunch?" Anna asked, knocking on Mary's office door.

"You go on ahead," Mary replied, looking up from her computer screen. "Matthew and I are leaving early so we'll just grab something on the way back to the hotel."

"Right," Anna nodded. "Are you excited about tonight?"

"A little," Mary shrugged. "Aunt Rosamund's parties are usually quite good, though never as good as she thinks they are. I'm looking forward to seeing your dress. You've been so secretive about it."

"Oh, it's nothing special," Anna shook her head. "It just took me a while to settle on something."

"I'm sure you'll look great," Mary smiled. "And if you wear those diamond earrings that Alex bought for you, I expect you'll be showered with compliments."

"I doubt that, but I am wearing them," Anna nodded.

"You're wearing what?" Matthew asked, stepping past Anna and going into Mary's office.

"None of your business," Mary said pointedly. "You'll see what we're talking about tonight at Aunt Rosamund's."

"Well, there's one reason for going, then, at least," Matthew smiled.

"I'll see you both tonight," Anna smiled, leaving to go have lunch.

Matthew closed the door behind her.

"I hate keeping her in the dark about everything," Mary shook her head. "She's been my best friend over the years, and she's unquestionably loyal."

"I know," he nodded, taking a seat on the other side of her desk. "Alex is like a brother to me. But telling them would only make things more complicated. They can't help us."

"I'm not sure if we can help us," she rolled her eyes. "God, Matthew, what are we going to do?"

"I honestly have no idea," he shook his head. "I still can't believe what Rose showed us last night."

Mary looked at her screen. She had felt numb since seeing the results of Rose's investigation. Though it didn't bear mentioning, they swore Rose to secrecy, and even had her transfer all of Papa's files to Matthew before deleting them from her Cloud storage. The fewer people who knew about this information, the better.

Matthew checked sports scores on his mobile. After sending Rose back to Grantham House, he and Mary had taken a bubble bath together, though it was hardly relaxing. Every question they raised led to more questions, and they had no idea what their next step was, beyond the fact they had to stop the business deal that Robert had proposed with Carlisle. How they would achieve that was unknown. After their bath, they went to bed, though they slept restlessly. Mary kept waking up. He wasn't sure if he even got to sleep at any point. They had arrived to work listless and disinterested, and now they had to get ready for a Season party at Painswick House when Mary's father was the last person they wanted to see.

"All right, let's just go over what we know," she sighed, breaking the silence. "The agreement calls for a combining of resources between Crawley Group and the Grosvenor Casinos. It doesn't mention Crawley Construction or any of our other holdings, or any of Sir Richard's media companies either."

"On the face of it, it's a rebranding of sorts," he nodded. "There's no mention of seats on the Board, exchanges of shares or voting rights. If it was anyone else involved, I would say it was more of a strategic partnership than an outright merger."

"But you don't think that Sir Richard simply wants to save money on marketing," she said.

"And you know that he doesn't," he replied. "It's a scam. It has to be. He's luring Robert in with the promise of a long term investment and the prestige of a nationwide network. There's 55 Grosvenor casinos across the UK. All Robert sees are the increased cash flows and the opportunity to bring all those locations under the Crawley Group banner. If it's a legacy he wants, this is his chance to put his personal stamp on the company while he's still in control."

"Putting that aside for a moment," she said. "What's in it for Sir Richard? If he wanted to open a chain of high-end casinos, he would do it himself."

"Exactly," he nodded. "That's why there must be something far more nefarious about it. Even if Robert isn't giving him a seat on the Board, doing business with him at all is a horrible idea. Merging the casino operations is letting him in. Who knows what's next?"

"Of course you're right," she nodded. "I hope you know that I'm entirely against the idea. I don't want anything to do with Sir Richard."

He looked at her and smiled wanly, his previous scowl softening.

"I know," he said reassuringly. "Whether you like it or not, you're on my team now."

"I like it very much," she smiled back. "Now, let's get going. We're running around in circles on this and I think I still need another day or so just to digest it all before I can even think of any plan."

They both rose and Matthew opened the door for her.

"Will you be all right tonight with Papa?" she asked quietly, taking his arm as they walked to the elevator. "We mustn't let him know that we're on to him, and we can't talk to Aunt Rosamund or Granny either, not until we figure this all out."

"I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing him," he grumbled as he pressed the button to call the lift. "I was already angry with him over everything else before we even knew about this. The idea of smiling and making conversation with him as though nothing is amiss makes me nauseous."

"Then focus on me," she smiled. "We'll get through it together. We'll eat, drink, and dance the evening away, and all you'll have to say to Papa is a polite hello and goodbye. Maybe a few token words here and there, but that's it."

"Promise?" he asked seriously as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

"I do," she nodded, smiling at him.

 **Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, July 2015**

In a previous century, Society parties were grand and important affairs. An enjoyable evening could elevate the hostess and her family to rarefied status among the London elite, spoken about glowingly for an entire year, invited to a host of exclusive events. Serve poor food and provide deficient service or entertainment, and one could be shunned, a carefully crafted reputation ruined until given a chance at redemption during the Fall Hunt or the Winter Season. A Season party was planned months in advance, with every detail organized. There were more casual events during the Season as well – small visits and dinners and such – but a full-blown party was a chance for the hostess to show off, and a chance for the guests to be seen.

These days, in an era where anyone could become an instant sensation with a hilarious cat video or a well-executed wardrobe malfunction, the Season had lost a great deal of its lustre and appeal. There was always a demand for parties, if only to give the rich an excuse to gather together, but the power and prestige of the gentry had faded long ago, and with it the usefulness of the Season. It was now more of a curious remnant from a bygone era, of far greater interest to the small segment of the 1% who still attended, and virtually unnoticed by the public-at-large.

None of which deterred Lady Rosamund Painswick from treating her Season party as though the year was still 1920 and all of London wanted an invitation. She carefully chose her theme, decorations, flowers, menu, drinks, music and guest list. A small army of event planners, florists, photographers, servants and labourers were employed to ensure Painswick House was at its finest. The guest arrivals were planned down to the minute, with staff wearing crisp white uniforms and headsets conducting the entire process to ensure all went smoothly.

So it was that Mary and Matthew walked slowly together behind Robert and Cora as they followed the line of guests towards the front steps. Edith, Sybil and Rose came next, with Anna and Alex completing their troupe. Granny was already inside. In years past the family would arrive early and form a receiving line to welcome the guests. For the past few parties though, Aunt Rosamund preferred to stand alone, all the more easily to monopolize the glory.

"Remember, darling," Mary whispered, keeping her voice down so her parents could not hear. "No talk of work or business of any kind tonight. It's just you and me and a lovely evening."

"A beautiful dream, that," he replied, smiling at her.

"It is," she nodded. "And I would like to keep the spell going until we leave."

"What if we stay past midnight?" he joked. "Won't reality seep back in past the Witching hour?"

"Not if we don't let it," she said lightly, arching her eyebrow at him. "And if you get me back to the hotel while we're still in good spirits, I promise that you'll feel as though you're living out a fantasy."

He blushed slightly and blinked at her playful eyes. "Well, that's quite an incentive."

They went up the stairs in pairs, filing into the foyer and greeting Rosamund respectfully. Going into the ballroom, the ladies gathered around Cora while Matthew and Alex dutifully went off with Robert to meet up with a group of the Earl's friends. She gave him a confident smile before he left, and he nodded bravely in reply.

* * *

"The early returns are positive," Cora smiled looking around the room at the lively chatter of the guests, the pleasant music of the orchestra and the well-dressed servers carrying silver platters of delectable hors d'oeuvres and drinks. "Rosamund ought to be pleased."

"If she is, she'll be sure to tell us that she is," Mary nodded.

Sybil and Edith smiled at each other.

"Is there anything you would like me to do for our party, Cousin?" Rose asked lightly. "I wouldn't want to show up without pitching in."

"Thank you, dear, but it's all taken care of," Cora said kindly. "We're using Ampersand again this year. They do brilliant work."

"That's why you were so eager to go to the Sinderbys' party," Edith smiled. "You wanted to take note so you can ensure the event staff don't serve any of the same dishes."

"That's not fair," Cora said. "I had a delightful time at the Sinderbys'."

"And took home a copy of the menu, no doubt," Mary smiled at her sisters.

"Will there be anything special beyond the food and dancing?" Rose asked. "Mummy always said that creating a spectacle was your particular area of expertise."

"She exaggerates," Cora smiled. "And no, there's nothing. Robert always makes a toast at some point during the night, but we don't have anything else planned, unless you have something you wish to add, Mary?"

"No, Mama, nothing," Mary said. "And even if I did have an announcement to make, I doubt I would use our family Season party as the venue."

"Why ever not?" Cora asked. "Plenty of couples make their engagement announcements during the Season."

"I'll say again that we don't have an announcement to make," Mary stated. "However, the party is your affair, not mine. I won't be a sideshow attraction for your friends to gawk at."

"It's far too late for that, darling," Sybil laughed, sipping her champagne. "You and Matthew draw attention wherever you go."

Rose laughed along with her.

Mary shook her head ruefully. She looked across the room, past the subtle glances that she received from others and spotted Matthew standing with Alex and her Papa, listening to another man drone on. As her gaze lingered on his custom tailored tuxedo, his blue eyes lifted and caught her staring. She blinked at the sudden connection, and a knowing smirk slowly curled his lips. She swallowed, then carefully raised her champagne flute to her mouth, taking a sip, then deliberately licking her lips, her eyes holding his stare. His eyes narrowed and she watched him give a quick word and a nod to Papa before he and Alex pulled away from the circle.

' _Let battle commence,'_ she thought, a shiver going down her spine.

* * *

"Having fun yet?" Matthew asked as they walked over to the bar.

"Loads," Alex replied with a wry smile. "Actually, it's all quite amusing. You and Lady Mary are the stars. Anna and I get to happily sit in the audience and watch the show."

"Maybe," Matthew smiled. "But I know you noticed the stares that Anna got when you came into the ballroom."

"There's always some of that at these things," Alex rolled his eyes. "At least people are more inconspicuous about it than at the casinos. Is everything all right between you and Lord Grantham?"

"Fine, why do you ask?" Matthew questioned.

"You seemed rather detached just now," Alex said. "You're usually better at pretending to care what he has to say."

"It's been a long Season," Matthew shrugged as the crowd around the bar moved along. "I have to conserve my enthusiasm where Robert is concerned."

"I guess you need to keep a bit in your back pocket for the family Season party," Alex nodded. "You'll need to be in top form for that."

"Quite right," Matthew muttered. He caught one of the bartender's attention and stepped up to the bar.

"I've got a rather particular order," Matthew said.

* * *

"Mama has released us, thank God," Mary shook her head, watching Cora walk across the room with Rosamund to greet other guests.

"Agreed. Now we can see who's here," Rose smiled at Sybil, glancing around the large hall.

"Edith, there's the Marquess of Hexham," Sybil said, nodding her head across the room. "Have you thanked him for the flowers yet?"

Edith blushed.

"So that's who those divine roses were from?" Mary smiled. "Goodness, Edith, we might all be bowing down to you soon. As a Marchioness, you'd outrank us all, even Papa."

"We've just gone for tea a couple of times, that's all," Edith mumbled. "And he's only a Marquess by title. He recently inherited it when his cousin died. He never expected it growing up. He wasn't raised the way we were."

"So much the better," Mary said mischievously. "He'll be all the more easy to mould and shape as you see fit."

"Please," Edith groaned. "No man is going to remake himself just to please me. That's something that only happens for you."

"That's nonsense," Mary rolled her eyes.

"Is it?" Edith smiled. "Don't try and pretend to be humble now, Mary. We all love you, but you have a habit of being rather demanding on your suitors, don't you?"

"What was the name of that poor boy who brought that garish floral arrangement to Downton Abbey when you were in high school?" Rose asked, her eyes bright.

"Marcus Stewart," Sybil laughed. "He didn't know about Mary's hayfever."

"So he made sure to buy nothing but peonies and carnations from then on," Edith said smugly. "Not that it helped his cause at all."

Mary huffed and sipped her drink.

"Or that bloke in business school who was so proud of his brand new Jaguar," Sybil smiled. "Until you told him you didn't like the colour, so he went and got a different one."

"Nothing could compare to poor Tony, though," Edith nodded.

"Oh God," Mary shook her head.

Anna smiled and looked down at the floor, somewhat embarrassed for her friend.

"I'm convinced that Mabel's engagement ring wasn't originally intended for her," Rose squealed.

"Rose!" Mary admonished her, glancing across the room to where Tony and Mabel were dancing.

"Thank goodness that Matthew is his own man," Edith laughed. "Though I suppose it's fitting that you've met your match in the person who used to draw your ire."

"Are you quite finished?" Mary asked coldly. "I thought that you were searching for admirers, not going over my dating history."

"Excuse me, Lady Mary," a server interrupted them.

"Yes?" Mary asked, looking at him curiously.

"Lychee Martini," the server announced, holding out a silver tray carrying five Martini glasses. "Compliments of Mr. Crawley."

"My, my," Rose smiled, taking a glass. "Well played, Matthew."

Mary held back a wide grin as she took her glass. She raised her drink to the other girls, then took a sip, savouring the sweet taste.

"That's very good," Edith nodded. "Is it a favourite of yours, Mary?"

"No, I've actually never had one before," Mary noted, taking another sip.

"Well, it seems that Matthew knows you even better than we thought," Sybil smiled.

Mary continued to sip her drink, looking around the ballroom for some sigh of Matthew.

* * *

"Matthew, good evening," a light female voice called.

"Mabel," Matthew said, turning around and nodding to her. "Tony, how are you?"

"Well, thank you," Tony smiled. "You seem to have lost Mary."

"She's with her sisters somewhere, I expect," Matthew replied. "I'll catch up to her later."

"Lady Rosamund always seems to outdo herself," Mabel smiled, looking around the ballroom. "She's put a bit of pressure on Lady Grantham to match this, hasn't she?"

"I'm sure Cora is up for the task," Matthew smiled. "Both of you are coming to the family Season party, of course?"

"We'll be there," Tony nodded. "We actually have a rather large contingent coming with us."

"We do," Mabel smiled. "Lady Grantham's been very kind. Both of our families are coming."

"I've also invited Charles," Tony stated. "He's never been to one of these parties. I expect he'll be in for a quite a shock."

"He will," Mabel laughed.

"I'm sure he'll fit in just fine," Matthew said. "He's been friends with the two of you for a while. You'll both ensure that he doesn't embarrass himself, won't you?"

"We've been preparing him a little bit," Mabel said, smiling at Tony. "Hopefully it all comes off."

"Excuse me," Alex said, approaching the trio with another guest.

"Ah, Alex," Matthew smiled. "Mabel, Tony, you both remember Alexander Lewis, my executive assistant, don't you?"

"Lord Gillingham, Lady Mabel," Alex nodded. "And this is Bertie Pelham, Marquess of Hexham."

Polite greetings were exchanged all around.

"Right, well we have some urgent business to attend to," Matthew explained to Tony and Mabel. "I'm sure we'll see both of you later."

With that, Matthew led Alex and Bertie away, taking out his mobile as they navigated their way through the crowd.

* * *

Rose's phone buzzed. She checked it quickly, and smiled before putting it away.

"Sybil, why don't we go and get some air?" she said. "You know I can't stay in one place for overly long."

"You aren't going to go outside and smoke, are you?" Mary frowned.

"Of course not," Rose replied, taking Sybil's arm. "Come along, Sybil."

Mary watched them leave, giggling to each other.

"She's a bad influence," Mary muttered.

"Which one? Rose or Sybil?" Edith joked.

"Lady Mary, Lady Edith," Alex nodded as he came up to them.

"Alex," Edith smiled politely.

"May I have this dance, please, love?" Alex smiled, extending his arm to Anna.

Anna nodded and took his arm.

"Excuse us," Alex said as he escorted her away and on to the dance floor.

"They do look rather cute together, don't they?" Edith observed.

"I think they're perfect for each other," Mary agreed.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Mary, Lady Edith," Bertie said nervously, bowing slightly as he reached them.

"My Lord," Mary nodded.

"Would you care to dance, Lady Edith?" Bertie asked.

"I…would be delighted, Lord Hexham, thank you," Edith said, glancing at Mary nervously then smiling at Bertie.

"Then, shall we?" Bertie said awkwardly, putting out his arm.

Edith placed her hand on his forearm and followed him to the dance floor, leaving Mary alone.

She stood still, tall and dignified, now aware of being on her own, numerous eyes looking over to her. She usually did not need to deal with any invitations at these parties, unless it was from an old friend. There was a tacit understanding that when a Lady arrived at an event accompanied by a man, she was off-limits. That didn't stop the odd character, emboldened by alcohol, from asking her for a dance or trying to strike up a conversation. She found it all rather amusing, but at the moment she felt a bit exposed.

"Now why would such a beautiful woman be left standing alone in a corner of the room?" he asked her, his voice low and teasing, just behind her ear.

"I seem to have been abandoned by my boyfriend, unfortunately," she replied, not turning around, though she expected he could still see the blush growing on her cheek.

"Any man who would leave your side is a fool," he said easily, his hand ghosting across her hip, then backed away just as quickly.

"Perhaps he found a better offer?" she said, her vision blurring slightly as she looked blankly into the distance, focusing her senses instead on the heat of him standing so close behind her. "Some slut willing to forego dancing altogether, cut right to the chase and pull him into a dark corner of one of the unused rooms to sate his desires?"

"And one could never accuse you of any of that," he chuckled. "Such wanton behaviour would be unheard of coming from the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley."

"Or so people would think," she said, smiling at her own reply. "Perhaps I'm capable of all manner of behaviour, with the right man."

"A man who wanted to lure you into a compromising position in your aunt's home during a Season party could not be classified as 'right' though, could he?" he asked. "That sounds like the wrong man, rather."

"I suppose it depends," she said, smiling as she allowed the pause in the conversation to set in.

"Depends on what, pray?" he asked, taking her bait.

She turned her head just slightly, showing him a glimpse of her pale throat. "On exactly what position he would want me in."

"Well," he struggled, clearing his throat. "I would think that, considering most of the floors in the house are either hardwood or tile, being on your knees would be uncomfortable, which eliminates a few possibilities."

Her stomach fluttered at his jab.

"Perhaps you're right," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. "And using the furniture could ruin my dress."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, making sure she saw him looking down her back. "The skirt seems like it would provide easy access if you were bent over a sofa or desk."

"Or leaning against the wall?" she shot back.

"That could work," he agreed. "Though these old Victorian homes aren't the best for soundproofing. It might draw undue attention if you used the wall and were too vocal."

"I see the problem," she said. "Perhaps he'll have a solution to that, find something to put in my mouth to keep me quiet?"

She didn't need to look back at him to imagine the fierce blush coming across his face. Her own cheeks felt quite warm.

"Shall we dance, Lady Mary?" he said thickly.

"Just a dance?" she asked. "I thought you'd have a dark room already picked out for us."

"No," he smiled, his lips close to her ear. "I'd rather dance with you, and talk, and eat, and drink, and enjoy your delightful company. All the while, we can let our imaginations run uninhibited, until we get back to the suite, and unleash them fully in private."

She swallowed and smiled, finally turning around and linking her arm with his.

"Well, in that case, Matthew," she said sultrily. "This dance is yours, as well as all that shall follow."

He bowed his head respectfully as he turned them towards the dance floor. They appeared almost regal, immaculately dressed, hair perfectly coiffed, the picture of class and glamour. He pulled her into hold on the dance floor, his one hand holding hers, the other across her back. She kept his gaze, smiling at him politely as they turned, though the thoughts filling their minds as they danced were anything but.

"This has been quite the turnout," she noted as they made their way among the numerous couples.

"I wouldn't know," he smiled, looking at her intently. "We're the only ones here."


	28. Chapter 28

**Previously:**

 **Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, July 2015**

"Any man who would leave your side is a fool," he said easily, his hand ghosting across her hip, then backed away just as quickly.

"Perhaps he found a better offer?" she said, her vision blurring slightly as she looked blankly into the distance, focusing her senses instead on the heat of him standing so close behind her. "Some slut willing to forego dancing, cut right to the chase and pull him into a dark corner of one of the unused rooms to sate his desires?"

"And one could never accuse you of any of that," he chuckled. "Such wanton behaviour would be unheard of coming from the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley."

"Or so people would think," she said, smiling at her own reply. "Perhaps I'm capable of all manner of behaviour, with the right man."

"A man who wanted to lure you into a compromising position in your aunt's home during a Season party could not be classified as 'right' though, could he?" he asked. "That sounds like the wrong man, rather."

"I suppose it depends," she said, smiling as she allowed the pause in the conversation to set in.

"Depends on what, pray?" he asked, taking her bait.

She turned her head just slightly, showing him a glimpse of her pale throat. "On exactly what position he would want me in."

"Well," he struggled, clearing his throat. "I would think that, considering most of the floors in the house are either hardwood or tile, being on your knees would be uncomfortable, which eliminates a few possibilities."

Her stomach fluttered at his jab.

"Perhaps you're right," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. "And using the furniture could ruin my dress."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, making sure she saw him looking down her back. "The skirt seems like it would provide easy access if you were bent over a sofa or desk."

"Or leaning against the wall?" she shot back.

"That could work," he agreed. "Though these old Victorian homes aren't the best for soundproofing. It might draw undue attention if you used the wall and were too vocal."

"I see the problem," she said. "Perhaps he'll have a solution to that, find something to put in my mouth to keep me quiet?"

She didn't need to look back at him to imagine the fierce blush coming across his face. Her own cheeks felt quite warm.

"Shall we dance, Lady Mary?" he said thickly.

"Just a dance?" she asked. "I thought you'd have a dark room already picked out for us."

"No," he smiled, his lips close to her ear. "I'd rather dance with you, and talk, and eat, and drink, and enjoy your delightful company. All the while, we can let our imaginations run uninhibited, until we get back to the suite, and can unleash them fully in private."

She swallowed and smiled, finally turning around and linking her arm with his.

"Well, in that case, Matthew," she said sultrily. "This dance is yours, as well as all that shall follow."

He bowed his head respectfully as he turned them towards the dance floor. They appeared almost regal, immaculately dressed, hair perfectly coiffed, the picture of class and glamour. He pulled her into hold on the dance floor, his one hand holding hers, the other across her back. She kept his gaze, smiling at him politely as they turned, though the thoughts filling their minds as they danced were anything but.

"This has been quite the turnout," she noted as they made their way among the numerous couples.

"I wouldn't know," he smiled, looking at her intently. "We're the only ones here."

 **Chapter 28:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, July 2015**

"Where's Matthew?" Edith asked, walking with Mary and Anna to the observation area overlooking the construction site where they held their daily meetings on the expansion of the casino.

"He's at Maxims with Alex," Anna said. "They actually haven't come in here yet today."

"That's unusual, isn't it?" Edith noted, looking at Mary. "He's usually at all of our meetings. Did something come up?"

"Not particularly," Mary shrugged. "Maxims is part of his division. Crockfords is part of mine. He has his office here but the other properties are where he does most of his work."

"I would have thought he'd want to be part of all our meetings, since we're spending his money," Edith said candidly.

"Don't worry, I'll update him," Mary replied.

"I'm sure you will," Edith smiled.

Anna looked down at her tablet and smiled while Mary blushed slightly.

"Have you spoken to Mama, by the way?" Edith asked. "She's been going on and on about whether we should make any changes for the party. I think she was more impressed by Aunt Rosamund's soirée last week than she's letting on."

"Intimidated more like it," Mary rolled her eyes. "And with good reason. Imagine Aunt Rosamund outdoing Mama when we're the ones who pay for her home and for her Season party. Mama ought to be terrified. This party has to be talked about for months afterwards."

"Well, have you uncovered anything more about this announcement of Papa's?" Edith asked. "He won't say a word about it, only something vague about all of us needing to be present when he makes it."

"No, nothing," Mary shook her head. "I'm too busy getting actual work done to be concerned about Papa's grandstanding in front of his friends."

"So you don't think that it's important, whatever the announcement is?" Edith asked, taking out her tablet. "That it doesn't affect us?"

"Whatever Papa's announcement is, they won't stop me from continuing with what I want to accomplish," Mary declared. "Matthew and I both have plans for the future of the company, and Papa's announcement, whatever it may be, won't deter us."

Mary took out her tablet, indicating that she was through with the topic of discussion. She hoped that Edith would take the hint. Her fingers seemed to shake as she swiped through to the appropriate browser. She hardly felt as confident as she let on. Her Papa's proposed merger between Crawley Group and Sir Richard's Grosvenor Casinos could not result in anything good, and yet she and Matthew were still at a loss as to how to their next step in response.

Edith and Anna shared a smile before proceeding to discuss the status of construction, unaware of Mary's nervous thoughts.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, July 2015**

Matthew frowned as he looked at his computer monitors. The files that Rose downloaded from Robert's Ultrabook were displayed on one screen, and the financial statements from Patrick's USB drive was on the other. He had spent the past hour going over them, a part of him hoping that he wouldn't find what he was looking for. It was difficult to recall a time in his life that he perhaps had deliberately wished he was wrong about something, but if there ever was such a time when he felt as such, this was it. Despite how much he disagreed with Robert on numerous matters, he didn't want to be at odds with him. The man was still technically his boss, a family friend and Mary's father. Matthew did not take any of that lightly. He had not come here last year to quarrel with anyone.

His stomach tensed as he found the confirmation email buried in a subfolder. It seemed so harmless, just a few lines of text from the Earl of Grantham's financial advisor, setting out the completed transaction. Another email followed, and another after that, a series of buy and sell orders processed as per Robert's instructions. Stocks, bonds, oil futures contracts, everything listed in the statements that Patrick had uncovered matched up. It was irrefutable.

Matthew sat back in his chair, running his hand over his eyes, then covering his mouth as he blinked several times. He didn't know how Robert decided to make these investments or whether he fully understood the implications of it all, but whether intentionally or not, the Earl had benefitted from the July 7, 2005 terror attacks, and Patrick knew about it. What part did this have to play in his death?

"You look annoyed," Alex said, coming into the office and taking a seat on the other side of Matthew's desk. "Anything in particular?"

"No," Matthew replied, closing the open browsers on his computer monitors and reaching for his Coke. "Just a bunch of things, really. Work, our ongoing investigation, dealing with the Season, it's just a lot to keep up with, is all."

"I never expected that going to parties would be so much work," Alex smiled, glancing at his mobile. "It's not like a good ol' pub crawl around St. Peter's Square, is it?"

"No," Matthew laughed, shaking his head. "Not exactly."

"I know you warned me that the Crawleys enjoy their traditions, but I didn't actually think it would be like this," Alex said. "Sometimes it's like we're in another era, or something."

"It's not that, not exactly," Matthew said. "They just like everything to be organized and predictable. They aren't the most spontaneous of people, but then that doesn't make them any different than most aristocratic families. These events are all about maintaining one's reputation, so they want to control things as much as possible."

"I suppose," Alex nodded. "When dealing with just Lady Mary and her sisters, it's all right, but once the rest of the family gets involved, I sometimes wonder how you manage it."

"Manage what?" Matthew asked.

"To be…like them," Alex shrugged. "It seems so unlike you, the pomp and all the complications and posturing."

"You forget that I grew up as part of all of that," Matthew smiled.

"Yes, a few times a year, and only because you had to, since your families were so close," Alex noted. "But now things are different. It seems only Lord and Lady Grantham are so adamant about the old ways. For all her adherence to propriety, I know that Lady Grantham isn't nearly so particular about formal etiquette where Isobel is concerned."

"No, strangely she and Mother are able to coexist despite being so different," Matthew nodded.

"I just wonder about you, is all," Alex said. "It's one thing to pay token service to their ways for your girlfriend's sake, but how long can you keep that up?"

"It's not as though it's a huge part of my life, or of our relationship," Matthew replied. "In private, Mary isn't nearly as intransigent as her parents. She's perfectly happy with the simpler things in life, as hard as you may think that is to believe."

"That's what Anna says," Alex smiled. "She says the real Lady Mary isn't entirely like the image she puts out."

"And she's right," Matthew nodded. "Given Mary's skills and experience, sometimes I think she doesn't need Crawley Group or Downton Abbey at all. She could build a life of her own and be perfectly happy."

"But?" Alex smiled.

"But I wouldn't want to put her to the test," Matthew sighed. "She loves her family, she's very loyal to the company and Downton is her family home. All of it will always be a part of her, and she shouldn't have to give it up."

"And you're all right with that, having to share her?" Alex asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Matthew said lightly. "She has to share me with United and all the things I do that she doesn't particularly care for."

"I suppose," Alex nodded.

"And what about you and Anna?" Matthew smiled. "I hear you're planning a big trip together for after the Season. You wouldn't dare elope without telling me, would you?"

"I'd consider it," Alex smiled. "But if we do, I promise to invite you to the London reception when we get back."

"How kind," Matthew laughed. "Look at you."

"Shut up," Alex said pointedly. "It's all your fault."

"How so?" Matthew frowned.

"If you hadn't dragged me here in the first place, I never would have met Anna," Alex explained. "And if I didn't have to listen to you whinge about Lady Mary for the past however many years, I wouldn't have been brainwashed into believing in things like soul mates, and true love, and all of that drivel."

"It's quite amusing seeing you so smitten over another human being," Matthew joked.

"Look who's talking," Alex retorted, before looking down and lowering his voice. "Do you ever wonder if we're doing right by them?"

"I'm sure you make Anna very happy," Matthew said encouragingly. "I've seen it. She shines around you, Alex, truly."

Alex smiled. "I just wonder if I'm not complicating her life unnecessarily," he admitted. "She's so used to being on her own, being independent. Sometimes I see her doing things not because she wants to, but because she knows I want to. She tells me every now and then that she never imagined her life being the way it is now, and I know that's because of me in a way. I just wonder…"

"Whether or not you add anything to her happiness, or whether you're just taking a piece of it for yourself," Matthew nodded.

"Something like that," Alex said.

"I know Mary would have a happy life, even if I weren't around," Matthew nodded. "She's smart, and beautiful, and has more than her fair share of men waiting to see if we work out or not so they can swoop in. She wouldn't be lacking for a successful career or companionship, regardless of whether I decided to come here from Manchester or not."

"I'd say the same for Anna," Alex said. "She was doing perfectly well before we met. We're very happy now, and I see her as part of my future, but I don't know if it's because things are easy at the moment and still relatively new, or what."

"I guess it all depends," Matthew said. "Whether we trust them enough to know their own minds and hearts, and believe they're with us because they want to be, and respect them enough to allow them to make their own choices."

"Do you think that Lady Mary would follow you to Manchester and be happy about it?" Alex asked.

"Probably not," Matthew smiled. "But then I'm also not sure I'd even ask her to."

Alex nodded, considering Matthew's words.

"You can't live in a hotel indefinitely, you know," Alex smiled. "Not if you plan on making your stay here more permanent."

"One step at a time," Matthew replied. "I'm just trying to survive the Season at this point. Now, what have you got?"

"I think the layout of the slot machines may need tweaking," Alex said, taking out his tablet computer.

 **Ampersand Events Head Office, Devonshire Square, London, England, July 2015**

"I thought we were only supplementing Lady Grantham's existing staff?" she asked, frowning at the various schedules and lists spread out on the meeting room table. "Why do we suddenly need more staff barely two weeks out from the party?"

"You call her and ask her yourself," he answered, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "She's one of our biggest clients and her party is one of the biggest events of the year. I don't care if she wants fireworks over St. James Square and a flock of white doves greeting every guest as they arrive. She wants more staff. Get it done."

"Unbelievable," she shook her head.

"Look, it's mostly servers and runners to help out in the kitchen, and a few extra valets to park cars," he said. "Surely it can't be that difficult to find a suitable crew."

"I'll handle it," she sighed.

"Good," he nodded, picking up his papers and leaving the meeting room.

She waited for him to leave and go back to his office before she took out her mobile and dialled a number.

"Hello," a voice answered her call.

"Felix, it's me," she said. "It turns out that I do need extra help for the Grantham Season party after all. Are your people still available?"

"For you, luv, of course," Felix answered.

"Good. I'll need servers, runners and valets," she nodded. "I'll send you the information."

"No worries, luv," Felix said. "I'll take care of it for you."

"Thank you," she smiled. "You're a lifesaver."

"Come by the club this weekend and thank me in person," Felix teased.

"I just might," she shot back. "Bye."

She smiled and got up from her chair, heading back to her office to send an email to Felix with details on the staff requirements and information on the Grantham Season party.

 **Saint Mary Aldermanbury's Garden, Aldermanbury, London, England, July 2015**

Mary squeezed Matthew's hand as they walked down the concrete path and came to a bench facing the memorial topped by a bronze bust of Shakespeare. She took a seat, smoothing out her skirt as Matthew sat down next to her and passed her sandwich to her. She unwrapped it and took a small bite, smiling at the bright sunlight bathing the small city park. Taking another bite, she appraised the bust of Shakespeare, the bard's balding head, curled moustache and goatee looked almost whimsical, though the intention was probably to make him look more serious. She swallowed and brought the sandwich back up to her lips, then stopped and looked over at Matthew's smiling face.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he smiled. "I was just thinking this is rather nice."

"Lunch in the park," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "It's rather ordinary of us, isn't it?"

"It is," he nodded. "Which makes it all the more shocking that you suggested it."

"Well, I wanted us to have some quiet time," she said. "And it's such a nice day, a quick stroll and a light lunch seemed just the thing."

"I agree," he said, sliding his arm along the top of the bench and behind her back. "Usually a light lunch with you involves a restaurant of some quality, or having Daisy whip something up, not take away sandwiches."

"Please," she rolled her eyes. "Sometimes quick and easy is the preferable option."

"That it can be, yes," he smiled. "It almost feels as though we're just a normal couple having a normal lunch out before heading back to work at our normal jobs."

"A delightful fantasy, isn't it?" she grinned.

He nodded.

"Did everything work out with your suit, by the way?" she asked.

"I had the final fitting yesterday," he answered. "My outfit for the Season party is complete. Might I hope that your dress is also ready?"

"Not yet," she shrugged. "Given how little we have to look forward to, I'm wondering if it even matters what I wear to the party."

"It matters to me," he smiled.

She smiled and took another bite of her sandwich. "Speaking of which, any more ideas about Papa and Sir Richard?"

"None," he shook his head. "I could always confront him about it and not bother telling him how I know about the proposed merger, but that would just end up being a shouting match with no real point. He's the President. It's within his power to enter into agreements on behalf of the company, no matter how ludicrous they may be. Making him angry will only cause him to be more stubborn and entrenched in his position. But, I have no idea how to convince him to drop it without making him angry."

"Suppose we could just leave it," she replied.

"I won't work under Carlisle," he said firmly.

"You wouldn't have to," she said. "We could just leave."

"Resign from the company?" he frowned in surprise. "You must be joking."

"No, I'm not. I'm serious," she nodded.

"That's rather weak talk, isn't it?" he smirked. "I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that, darling."

"I know how to recognize a depreciating asset," she scoffed. "If Papa proceeds with the merger, it'll destroy our brand, to say nothing for how it may impact on our resources and staff. I think leaving is a viable option. Papa made his bed, now let him sleep in it."

"Then you're not thinking properly," he said. "Darling, you can't honestly expect me to believe that you would leave and abandon Crawley Group to whatever scheme Carlisle has in mind? What about your family legacy? What about all you've built at Crockfords and the other properties?"

"It wouldn't be easy, but working alongside Sir Richard would be far worse," she said. "And you never know, if they run the company into the ground, we could always come in and buy the assets for a song out of the bankruptcy."

"You're funny," he smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles quickly. "We'll figure something out, Mary. There has to be something we can do."

"If there is, we had better find it soon," she sighed. "If the announcement is to come at the family Season party, we don't have much time left."

They both turned away and looked out across the park.

"It wouldn't be so bad, would it?" she asked lightly. "Having normal jobs, living normal lives?"

"A delightful fantasy," he smiled.

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 34** **th** **Floor, 30 St. Mary Axe, London, England, August 2015**

Cyril walked down the long hallway to Sir Richard's office. The area was always perpetually abuzz with activity during business hours, it seemed. Secretaries, junior executives, managers and even delivery boys were always shuffling in and out of the spacious corner office. From the outside, it didn't appear any different from the goings on at any legitimate corporation.

He walked into the large room, sunlight pouring in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Taking his usual seat in the chair opposite the large desk, he remained silent and waited to be acknowledged. Sir Richard was reclined in his chair, one woman giving him a manicure while another was massaging his bare feet. A third was giving him a shave with a straight razor.

"Is it done?" Richard asked once the shave was completed and the woman was patting down his face and neck with a towel.

"We'll have four servers, four runners, and four valet parking attendants working the party," Cyril nodded, checking his tablet. "They'll need to do actual work at first, but I expect by the time Lord Grantham is ready to make his announcement, they'll be free."

"Good, and what can we expect for security on the premises?" Richard asked.

"The servants are all civilians," Cyril replied. "There will be a security detail in the ballroom with Lord Grantham, but we should have the advantage by sheer numbers alone."

"And the runners will have access to the food and drink," Richard smiled.

"Precisely," Cyril nodded. "If all goes according to plan, we won't need to fire a single shot."

"Very good," Richard grinned, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. "You should really try this sometime, Cyril."

Cyril rolled his eyes briefly before continuing. "I spoke with the lawyer, Murray, today. He said that Lord Grantham thinks your idea that you both sign the agreement at the party is inspired."

"Of course he does," Richard smiled. "He loves a good show."

"And it ensures you don't have to sign anything beforehand," Cyril smirked.

"That too," Richard chuckled.

"Sir Richard," a secretary called from the doorway. "Your tailor is here, sir."

"Excellent," Richard smiled. "I'll be with him in a moment."

The tailor came into the office, an assistant pushing a wheeled rack of suit bags behind him.

"Let's wrap this up, ladies, if you please," Richard said. "I've got a fitting for my party suit to get to."

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames House, Millbank, London, England, August 2015**

"This is the layout of the home," Charles said, pointing to the diagram on the screen. "Everyone will be gathered in the ballroom for most of the evening. There will be some staff moving back and forth from the kitchens and staging areas and what not, but our main target will be in the ballroom."

The other agents watched with interest as he outlined the large ballroom on the ground floor.

"Timing will be very important," Charles continued. "In a dream scenario, I'll speak to him, show him the warrant and we'll bring you all in and take him into custody, while also securing any records and computers that we find on the premises. I think we'll make more progress at the company offices, but I'll speak on that later."

"How will the rest of us get in?" an agent asked.

"You'll need to wait on my signal," Charles answered. "I have an invitation into the party, but the guest list is closely monitored. We'll have units posted here, and here, but you'll need to stay quiet until I'm able to get close enough to him. Radio communications shouldn't be an issue given how close we'll all be in proximity. I'll call and you'll come in."

The agents nodded.

"We shouldn't encounter any resistance, beyond the normal shock from the guests and such. Remember, we need to stay on target. There will be a lot of eyes on us, a lot of powerful and influential people will witness it all happening. No one is to approach anyone else, including our asset. Let's stick to procedure and we won't have any problems."

The agents reviewed the plan once more, checking over which unit they were each assigned to and their list of call signs for the evening.

"Oh, and remember that the event is a black tie affair," Charles smiled. "Please do dress appropriately."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, August 2015**

Mary closed the door behind her and came into the suite, removing her shoes and sighing as her feet felt much needed relief. She placed her handbag on the sidetable and came into the living room, smiling as the sight that greeted her.

Matthew was lying on the one of the sofas, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. She expected have come back from a bike ride, showered and collapsed. Shaking her head, she came over and sat down next to his head, running her fingers through his messy hair.

"Wake up, lazy," she teased.

"Mmm, I am awake," he mumbled, turning his head slightly against her thigh.

"Is that so?" she smiled. "And what exactly are you doing lying down on the sofa besides having a kip?"

"I told you, I'm awake," he smirked. "I've been busy visualizing."

"Visualizing?" she frowned. "Is that some new age nonsense? Like meditation or positive imagery?"

"A little bit," he smiled. "It's visualizing what you want to have happen, seeing your goal clearly in your mind, then mapping out the steps to achieve it."

"Ah," she smiled, caressing his cheek. "And what goal were you visualizing? World domination?"

"Nothing so ambitious," he replied, eyes still closed. "I was picturing a beautiful woman coming in and giving me a massage."

She rolled her eyes and snorted, reaching down and rubbing the back of his neck. "Will I do, then?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, then closed them and sighed. "Well, you're still fully clothed, but I suppose it's good enough for now."

"Naughty," she smirked, flicking his ear.

"How are things at Grantham House?" he asked, his hand moving over to cover her knee.

"Mama is reinforcing the defences. I've never seen so many flowers," she huffed. "She wants us to be front and centre throughout the evening, by the way. It appears we are to put on a show for everyone."

"Hmm, well that raises all sorts of possibilities," he laughed.

"Within the bounds of propriety, of course," she warned him. "Honestly, Matthew, be serious."

"All right," he grumbled. "But I'm not posing for a photograph with Carlisle, not unless I get to throttle him as part of the deal."

"I'm sure that both of us will give him a wide berth, and he'd do well to keep away from us at the same time," she nodded. "Besides, I'm still hoping we'll find something beforehand to foil the merger."

"That would be helpful, yes," he agreed.

"Are you sure that you'll be all right with him there?" she asked. "I know it won't be easy."

"I'll be fine," he muttered, finally opening his eyes and moving forward to rest his head in her lap. "Carlisle won't do anything to jeopardize his deal with Robert. With so many witnesses around, being in the same room with him will guarantee my safety. Besides, with the merger, I'm really no longer a rival to him, and neither is Crawley Group."

"I suppose," she nodded. "That does give me some small comfort, knowing he isn't plotting against you any longer."

"It's funny, you know," he smiled wryly. "I was so focused on saving Patrick's division when I first arrived here, and now that's essentially been taken care of, and yet I find dealing with company and family politics to be a much greater challenge."

"It's always been that way," she chuckled, pressing her fingers against his lips. "Success and profit is one thing, but the manner in which we achieve it is quite another. And, you said it yourself. Papa is the President. He wields the power. In the end, we all work for him."

"I suppose I just always thought that merit would win out in the end," he said.

"What gave you that strange idea?" she teased. "Everything is all about power and appearances, in the end."

"Is that what you were hoping for in the beginning?" he asked. "That I would be hopelessly inept, unable to hold my own and end up retreating back to Manchester with my tail between my legs?"

"Perhaps, at first," she smiled. "Your competence was one thing, but I was hoping you wouldn't be able to navigate the other side of it – the marketing, building an image, managing Papa's expectations. You proved quite adept at all of that, which was rather annoying. So, I had to change my plan of attack."

"Ah, yes," he smiled. "You tried to play me."

"That I did," she nodded.

"What was your plan?" he asked. "Say we had slept together, like you suggested. No strings. No commitment. You would have just had your way and left me in a heap before disappearing into the night. Then what?"

"Well, I knew such a momentous encounter between us would affect you, and that I'd be able to use that against you going forward," she admitted.

"Wouldn't you rather rely on your wit and intelligence to put me in my place, rather than your body?" he asked.

"Endless arguments can be rather inefficient," she replied. "It isn't as though you were very good at hiding your attraction to me. I could see it. So, I considered it another weapon in my arsenal."

"Did you truly think we wouldn't argue anymore though, just because you decided to give me some pity sex?" he grinned.

"Well, perhaps," she rolled her eyes. "Perhaps there was more to my…scheme…than just wanting to put you in your place."

"Such as?" he asked smugly.

"Such as…maybe I was curious to see just what it would…be like..." she muttered.

"You were…curious…about sleeping with me," he stated.

"Maybe a small bit," she blushed. "Something…changed…between us the more we worked together. I didn't find you so…annoying…anymore. In and around the trial, and dealing with Papa, and all the rest of it, I found that I was looking forward to our little skirmishes…just a little."

"You began to like duelling with me," he said. "You liked the tension between us."

"Don't flatter yourself," she smiled down at him. "I argue with a lot of people, and I'm not sleeping with any of them."

"Fair enough," he smiled. "You don't have to admit it."

"Now you're being annoying," she shook her head. "There's more to us than just sex, isn't there?"

"Much more," he smiled.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2015**

Robert sipped his drink, staring out the window at the night sky over St. James Square.

"Will that be all, my Lord?" Carson asked from the doorway.

"Yes, Carson, good night," Robert nodded, taking another sip.

The butler bowed his head and took his leave.

Robert took a deep breath, savouring the last sip of his drink before he got up from his chair and went over to the bar to refill his drink.

"Papa? You're still awake," Sybil said, coming into the parlour.

"Just for a little longer," he nodded. He took his drink and sat back down in his chair. "How was your evening?"

"Very nice," he nodded, coming over and sitting down on a nearby sofa. "I'm afraid I may have worn out Edith and Rose. They both went straight up to bed the moment we came home."

"Ah, to be a student again," he smiled. "Able to stay up all hours of the night without consequence."

"I'm sure I'll suffer in the morning," she smiled ruefully. "Mama wants us up bright and early to sample the menu for the party again."

He laughed and took another sip. "Well, you know how your Mama can get during the Season. Everything must be just so."

"Certainly," she agreed. "I'll be glad when the weekend finally arrives and we can actually enjoy ourselves."

"Do you remember your first Season party?" he asked.

She frowned in thought. "I remember when we were children, Mary would wake us up and we would sneak over to the gallery to watch what you and all of your friends were up to."

He chuckled. "We knew you were up there, actually. Your Mama wanted to punish you but I told her to leave you be. There was no harm in seeing what you would soon be living for yourselves."

"I still remember going for my first dress fitting," she smiled. "It was like something out of a fairytale. All the colours and fabrics and the lace trim and beads. I thought Mary and Edith looked like princesses when I saw them get their first dresses, and when it came to my turn, it was magical."

"I'm surprised," he smiled. "I thought you hated all of that. Wasn't that why you wanted to wear pants when you were a teenager?"

"That was just a phase, more about shocking Mama and Granny than anything else," she laughed. "There's still parts of our way of life that I find quite endearing, Papa."

"That pleases me," he nodded. "I know you aren't particularly impressed or interested in the work we do, or with the company and all of that, but that's all secondary. What is most important, what truly matters, is the family, and that it must always continue. Our traditions, our beliefs, Downton, all of it. That's what's most important, Sybil. That's what's always been most important."

She nodded carefully. "There's other ways to preserve and honour our family history though, Papa."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged. "And perhaps in the future, you and your sisters may choose to explore them. As for me, this is the only way that I know. It's what was taught to me. It's what is expected of me. Guard the family businesses and pass them on to the next generation."

"And what if Mary decides to cash it all in and go live in the States when it's her turn?" she asked.

"So long as I'm not around to see it, I suppose that doesn't matter," he said. "But I don't expect she would do something so drastic. Mary's always been well aware of what's expected of her. She's much like me that way."

Sybil nodded.

"Well, good night, my dear girl," he declared, setting his glass down and rising from his chair.

Sybil got up and hugged him, kissing his cheek and bidding him goodnight.

She watched as he left the parlour and slowly climbed the stairs.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2015**

William walked briskly from his office and crossed the hall. He rapped on the closed door to Matthew's office and took a deep breath and exhaled. The door swung open suddenly and he blinked in surprise.

"Yes, William?" Mary asked.

"Lady Mary," William exclaimed. "Excuse me, I had something urgent to show to Mr. Crawley."

"Come on in, Mr. Mason," Matthew said from behind his desk, waving him in.

William came forward and took a seat in his usual chair. Mary closed the door and came around Matthew's desk to stand next to him.

"Go on," Matthew nodded.

"I was thinking about the investigation into Mr. Patrick's death," William said. "I have a bit of a theory, you see."

"A theory?" Mary asked.

"Yes, ma'am," William nodded nervously. "It's just something I came up with, but I've just been thinking about what the connection is between the Albanians and Mr. Green and Mr. Patrick."

"Well, we know that Patrick purchased drugs from Mr. Green, including the drugs that ended up killing him. The Albanians were spotted at Egg London, which gives them the opportunity to have intimidated Green or ordered him somehow to deliver the tainted drugs," Matthew nodded.

"Yes, but we've been missing a motive, haven't we?" William asked.

"We have," Matthew nodded.

"Well, I was thinking, why would Mr. Green agree to any of it?" William said. "Mr. Patrick was probably his best client, or close to it. Why would he deliberately give up that business, and get involved in his murder?"

"We expect because the Albanians put pressure on him," Matthew repeated.

"Which leads us to wonder who put the Albanians up to it," Mary added.

"Right, I know that," William nodded. "But what if the Albanians actually had nothing to do with it? What if it was a direct order from Mr. Green's superiors?"

"Why would his superiors want Patrick dead?" Mary frowned. "One would think his superiors would have loved Patrick for all the money he spent with them."

"Yes, ma'am," William nodded, swallowing. "But what if Mr. Green's superiors were motivated by more than just money, just like Mr. Green would have been motivated to go along with it despite losing Mr. Patrick's business?"

"That is a theory," Matthew nodded. "But if you're going to introduce an entirely new player to this mess, then you're still faced with the same issue of motive."

"Not necessarily, sir," William said. He took out his tablet and placed it on Matthew's desk. "I did some digging into the ownership of Egg London Nightclub. Whoever owns the club must know about Mr. Green's activities, or, at least I would think they would. Maybe they are the ones calling the shots."

Mary looked at the tablet screen over Matthew's shoulder as he scrolled through the electronic documents.

"Of course, it's a numbered company that holds the lease for the Egg London Nightclub premises. Most of these operations have numerous companies – one to hold the lease, another to employ the employees, another to hold the contracts with the performers, and so on. I chased a bunch of companies, starting with the tenant and going through to the company that ultimately seems to own the whole operation," William explained.

"Tanist Inc.," Mary frowned, reading the name on the electronic corporate profile report. She mulled the name in her mind for several seconds. "Why does that name sound familiar?" she asked.

"It's a holding company," William said. "It doesn't actually have any assets, but it is the parent company of numerous other corporations, such as the company that holds the tenancy for Egg London. It's other major subsidiary is a numbered corporation that holds the tenancy for…"

"The 34th floor at the Gherkin, 30 St. Mary Axe," Matthew nodded. He glanced up at Mary. "The corporate head office of Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated."

Mary blinked.

"That's right," William said.

"So your theory," Mary said. "That Mr. Green's superiors ordered Patrick's death, is based on Mr. Green ultimately answering to Sir Richard Carlisle."

"Yes, ma'am," William said. "I don't have a motive for Sir Richard, but he is a person of interest."

"He most certainly is," Matthew said. "Well done, Mr. Mason. Leave it with us. Also, please don't mention this to anyone else."

"Yes, sir," William nodded, rising from his chair and leaving the office, closing the door behind him.

"None of this makes any sense," Mary shook her head, leaning back against the wall as she processed the new information. "Why would Sir Richard want Patrick dead?"

"I don't know," Matthew replied. "But I don't think it matters."

"Why not?" Mary frowned.

He turned his chair around to face her.

"Because regardless of why exactly Sir Richard wanted Patrick dead, or even if he had anything to do with his murder at all, we now have new information to bring to Robert," he said.

Mary's eyes widened as she met his.

"After all, darling," he said seriously. "Everything is about power and appearances, in the end."


	29. Chapter 29

**Previously:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2015**

"Right, I know that," William nodded. "But what if the Albanians actually had nothing to do with it? What if it was a direct order from Mr. Green's superiors?"

"Why would his superiors want Patrick dead?" Mary frowned. "One would think his superiors would have loved Patrick for all the money he spent with them."

"Yes, ma'am," William nodded, swallowing. "But what if Mr. Green's superiors were motivated by more than just money, just like Mr. Green would have been motivated to go along with it despite losing Mr. Patrick's business?"

"That is a theory," Matthew nodded. "But if you're going to introduce an entirely new player to this mess, then you're still faced with the same issue of motive."

"Not necessarily, sir," William said. He took out his tablet and placed it on Matthew's desk. "I did some digging into the ownership of Egg London Nightclub. Whoever owns the club must know about Mr. Green's activities, or, at least I would think they would. Maybe they are the ones calling the shots."

Mary looked at the tablet screen over Matthew's shoulder as he scrolled through the electronic documents.

"Of course, it's a numbered company that holds the lease for the Egg London Nightclub premises. Most of these operations have numerous companies – one to hold the lease, another to employ the employees, another to hold the contracts with the performers, and so on. I chased a bunch of companies, starting with the tenant and going through to the company that ultimately seems to own the whole operation," William explained.

"Tanist Inc.," Mary frowned, reading the name on the electronic corporate profile report. She mulled the name in her mind for several seconds. "Why does that name sound familiar?" she asked.

"It's a holding company," William said. "It doesn't actually have any assets, but it is the parent company of numerous other corporations, such as the company that holds the tenancy for Egg London. It's other major subsidiary is a numbered corporation that holds the tenancy for…"

"The 34th floor at the Gherkin, 30 St. Mary Axe," Matthew nodded. He glanced up at Mary. "The corporate head office of Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated."

Mary blinked.

"That's right," William said.

"So your theory," Mary said. "That Mr. Green's superiors ordered Patrick's death, is based on Mr. Green ultimately answering to Sir Richard Carlisle."

"Yes, ma'am," William said. "I don't have a motive for Sir Richard, but he is a person of interest."

"He most certainly is," Matthew said. "Well done, Mr. Mason. Leave it with us. Also, please don't mention this to anyone else."

"Yes, sir," William nodded, rising from his chair and leaving the office, closing the door behind him.

"None of this makes any sense," Mary shook her head, leaning back against the wall as she processed the new information. "Why would Sir Richard want Patrick dead?"

"I don't know," Matthew replied. "But I don't think it matters."

"Why not?" Mary frowned.

He turned his chair around to face her.

"Because regardless of why exactly Sir Richard wanted Patrick dead, or even if he had anything to do with his murder at all, we now have new information to bring to Robert," he said.

Mary's eyes widened as she met his.

"After all, darling," he said seriously. "Everything is about power and appearances, in the end."

 **Chapter 29:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, August 2015**

Mary and Matthew left the casino in silence, holding hands as they went out the back entrance and over to his waiting car. He held the door open for her and helped her into her seat before closing the door behind her and walking around to get in on the driver's side.

They didn't talk on the drive back to the hotel. He steered with his right hand and placed his left hand on her thigh. When he felt her hand cover his and remain there, he relaxed, but only a little bit. Thoughts and ideas swirled in his mind, the revelation that they had just learned from William was the missing piece in his plans. He couldn't tell Robert about Carlisle blackmailing Mary and threatening to kill him. That would reveal Mary's scandal, and worse, likely ruin any chance she had of succeeding Robert as President of Crawley Group. Now, with a plausible connection between Carlisle and Patrick's death, Matthew had the grounds to force Robert's hand. He also had what he thought was sufficient ammunition to demand changes in the company, changes that he felt were long overdue. With the Crawley family Season party mere days away, he was running out of time, and he needed to act, to incorporate this new information into his plans and push for a meeting with Robert before it was too late. It was always in his nature to weigh the consequences of everything he did, and he prided himself on the ability to think on his feet, to make adjustments as scenarios changed. Unfortunately, in this instance, the calculus was not entirely in his favour. There would be collateral damage, and he wasn't entirely sure how that would all play out.

She didn't look at him as they travelled the familiar route along the Thames and across London Bridge, their joined hands serving as enough of an anchor. William's information left her with mixed emotions. She was relieved that there appeared to be no connection between Papa and Patrick's murder. At the same time, she was wary of what this meant in the larger scheme of things. Matthew shared her conviction that Sir Richard needed to be kept away from Crawley Group. Branding him as Patrick's killer would help immensely. She wasn't entirely sure though, whether she was in agreement with Matthew over anything else that may follow.

From the time that Matthew was called in from Manchester last September, she expected that they would argue, and be against each other on numerous matters. They had different approaches and management styles, different methods of prioritizing and determining the most important goals and objectives, and different personalities altogether. They were just different people, and they knew from their past history that they were bound to fight. With the fate of Crawley Group a changing and fragile thing in light of all that she and Matthew had uncovered recently, she suspected there would come a time where they would find themselves on opposite sides again. Whereas Matthew was Managing Director of Crawley Group, and nothing more, she was also Robert Crawley's eldest daughter, and that brought with it significant extra baggage. She suspected that there was a point that Matthew was prepared to go to in the name of solving the company's problems, a place where she could not follow because of what it would do to her family. Her family's Season party was coming fast upon them, and she could not help but feel that she and her boyfriend were quickly approaching a crossroads as well.

They did not release their hands from each other until he parked the car at the kerb of the hotel and left it to a valet. Their separation was mere seconds as she took his hand again when they went inside. All the way through the elegant lobby and to their private elevator, their hands remained clasped together. Even as they rode the elevator upstairs, they held tight, he leaning back against the wall of the lift, she hugging him close. She rested her head on his shoulder, their hands on her hip as they rose above London.

No word was spoken as they entered the suite and removed their shoes. He went through to the bedroom and hung up his suit jacket, took off his tie and cufflinks and placed them neatly on the dresser. She ducked into her closet, removed her stockings and unbuttoned part of her blouse before returning to the living room and taking her usual seat on the sofa. He mixed a pair of strong drinks for them and joined her. They each took several long sips, drinking slowly, the only sound in the room the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Eventually, they set their glasses down on the coffee table. He sat back and extended his arm towards her. She snuggled against his chest and shoulder, stretching her legs out as they cuddled together.

He was the first one to break the silence.

"We can't allow Carlisle into the company," he said softly. "He can't be trusted. I won't work under him. He has to be stopped."

She turned her head and kissed his neck, indicating her agreement.

"We'll have to go to Papa and convince him to back out of the deal," she stated. "Sir Richard will be angry, but nothing will come of it."

"I don't know if cancelling the deal will be enough for me at this point," he admitted, choosing to get on with the topic that neither of them wanted to raise.

"What else will you demand of him?" she asked, her tone steady and normal. She didn't look at him at first, but when he didn't answer right away, she lifted up, bringing her face level with his.

"He's too far gone, Mary," he said. "The investments, refusing to look properly into Patrick's death, the constant meddling and questioning, trying to control us from Downton, dealing with Hightower in secret, pursuing a merger with Carlisle. He's hurting us all. He wants to leave his mark on the company so badly that he has lost all perspective and sense of reason. I can't allow him to continue. I'm going to ask for his resignation."

She did not gasp, or shriek, or act as though she found his words shocking because she wasn't shocked. Of course he would want Papa to step down. Matthew never treated the symptoms if he could eradicate the disease at its source.

"He won't resign," she said, almost indifferently, stating the obvious.

"No, he won't," he agreed. "Not willingly."

"And you want me to support you in this, to stand against him," she declared.

"No," he said immediately.

She blinked.

"Have you recruited Granny to your cause?" she asked, now confused.

"No," he told her. "I'll stand alone on this, if it comes to that. I won't put you in a position to have to choose between me and your father. You're free to take whatever side you wish."

"With respect to Sir Richard, and the first part of your plan, we're in agreement," she said. "We'll say that we believe Sir Richard ordered that Patrick be killed, and that his invitation to the Season party ought to be rescinded, that we keep him at arm's length from now on."

"With any luck, Robert will either agree, or raise the subject of the merger, and we won't need to disclose that we know about it already," he said. "It should be enough that we insist that the company and the family have no involvement with Carlisle. Robert won't be able to refuse, at least not without telling us what hold Carlisle has over him, if any. I'm still hoping that it's as simple as Robert wanting to take advantage of Carlisle's money and nothing more."

"We'll see," she said. "And if he agrees, and Sir Richard is neutralized once again, you'll still ask Papa to step down?"

"I'll ask for that regardless," he confirmed. "We can't be certain that we know everything that he's up to. Even if he goes along with cancelling the merger, what other schemes does he have going on in the name of cementing his legacy? Can we even trust him anymore, in any event? We were lucky to catch on this time. What if he goes and loses company funds on a failed investment next time, or commits us to a direction that will lead to our ruin? He can't remain President any longer."

"Once he refuses to resign, you'll need to bring the matter before the Board," she said. "Given all that we know, Granny will likely side with you. Aunt Rosamund is harder to predict. I could see her agreeing with Papa's plans. She's always been more pragmatic, more willing to accept any means to achieve the ends she wants."

"And she would rather side with family over the paranoid cries of an outsider," he finished.

She shook her head ruefully. "Well, you're certainly going to lose some admirers over this plan."

"It's a risk," he said. "But I have no choice. Even if we were able to head off every danger, solve every crisis going forward, the only way to restore the stability that the company needs is in a change of leadership."

"If you fail, it'll be the end of you," she said seriously. "Papa won't allow you to stay on as Managing Director once you've risen up against him. He'll remove you from your position, even order that you go back to Manchester."

"I know," he said grimly. "No matter what happens, I don't expect to be Managing Director beyond the Season party."

She nodded solemnly. As early as sixth form, she wanted to be President of Crawley Group one day. It was decades yet before Papa would even think to pass the reigns over to her, but so long as he sat in the President's chair, there was a chance that she would succeed him. Could she continue as Vice-President, Operations with Matthew as President? Would her own ambition and pride permit her to be his subordinate, with very little prospect of ever replacing him? Matthew was stubborn and meticulous. He would want to lead Crawley Group into the future, change some of their more old-fashioned methods, and preside over their growth and progress. Would she carry out his instructions, or would she resent him for taking what she felt was rightfully hers by birth?

"I suppose you think that it's your duty to fix the damage that Papa's caused, like you did with Patrick's division," she muttered.

"I do," he stated, nodding as he looked at her. "I can't just stand by and allow Robert to maintain the status quo that is clearly not working for us."

"If you are successful, you'll make a fine President," she said gamely, though her stomach rolled unpleasantly.

"I think so," he said. "But I know someone who would be far better."

She blinked, and this time, her mouth did fall open.

"What are you saying?" she asked quietly, needing him to answer out loud.

"I'm saying that my plan calls for Robert to resign as President, and for you to succeed him," he said easily, keeping his eyes on hers. "It's the position you're meant to have, Mary. Robert's been a poor caretaker, and I would be a better one, but you, you wouldn't just maintain and preserve Crawley Group. You'll see it grow and thrive, I know you will."

"I…" she stumbled, searching for words. "I don't know what to say. I always imagined Papa coming around and handing over power willingly. I never thought about taking it from him."

"I know, and I'm not telling you my plan to endear myself to you, or entice you to believe in me," he said. "The truth is, succeed or fail, my relationship with Robert will change forever, and I'm prepared to sacrifice it to do what I believe is right. I won't ask you to do the same. He's your Papa, and if you love him, then love him, by all means."

"I do love him," she said, the words sounding strange to her ears. "And I love you."

"Then we'll each decide for ourselves what we must do, and what will come, will come," he said.

She moved towards him and kissed him, lightly at first, then deeper, harder, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed against him. His hands moved to her hips and pulled her closer. They put aside their plans, all they had been through, and all that was to come, and kept themselves in the moment, in this familiar place, where it was just the two of them, together.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, August 2015**

"We'll have sentries here and here," Rose said, typing on her keyboard and highlighting the upstairs corner rooms on the floorplan displayed on Alex's television. "It would be too conspicuous to post them on the roof, so the upstairs rooms will have to do. The sightlines are good and we don't expect anyone will be using those rooms during the party."

"All right," Alex said, stroking his chin as he looked at the television. "What about the perimeter?"

"Cousin Robert's guards will be posted out front," Rose said, switching the layout on the screen to the ground floor. "They'll move inside after the arrivals are completed. I've got two of ours on a regular patrol, though they'll need to be careful if we're expecting visitors."

"Visitors?" Anna asked, frowning at Alex in question.

"Sir Richard Carlisle, Cyril Hightower and Charles Blake are all on the guest list, to name but three persons of interest," Alex explained. "There's no indication that any of them will stir up trouble, but being prepared means planning for any possibility. If any of them want to stage a power play at the Crawley family Season party, we need to be on top of it."

"Getting our men inside the ballroom will be tricky, but we should be able to manage it, just having them included as guests," Rose said. "Unfortunately, Cousin Cora is using an outside caterer this year, so the number of servants we could have replaced with security is limited. Given the large number of guests, we'll have eyes on the room so we can monitor Mary, Edith, Sybil, Cousin Violet and Mrs. Crawley, and teams posted near the doors in case support is required."

"Good," Alex nodded. "Keep the installation of the cameras to yourself. We don't want too many people knowing, including Lord Grantham and his family. Make sure everyone is clear on instructions as well. We won't be able to carry ear pieces all of the time since we're guests, so they'll need to operate independently for most of the night. We'll only have communications capability at the previously set intervals and if there's a crisis."

"Cameras are already installed and no one knows about it," Rose confirmed. "Don't worry, you know how these things are. It's mainly babysitting. You can drink yourself silly with a clear conscience."

"That I would like to see," Anna joked.

"You won't, because it isn't going to happen," Alex retorted. "But I bet Rose will drink enough for the both of us."

"Pardon me, Anna, but Alex, fuck right off," Rose sneered.

They all laughed.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, August 2015**

Mary breathed in deeply, then sighed as she let it out. Her head fell back, then forwards, her fingers digging into the fabric of the headboard, holding her still and stopping her from swaying. Another tremor hit her and she arched her back, a moan escaping from her open mouth. Her hips shifted back and forth, grinding against his mouth. Each time that she was able to find enough control to sit up a bit straighter, another swipe of his tongue would cause her to press down and shake once again.

Finally opening her eyes, she stared down at him, his head resting comfortably on the pillow. His eyes were closed, his brow slightly curled in concentration. She watched him for a moment, enraptured by the sight of him framed by her thighs, but then he did that thing again, in just that way that she loved, and her eyes snapped shut, and a fresh cry left her lips. His hands shifted from her hips and came around to cup her bottom. He moved her into place and she leaned forward, hanging on to the headboard desperately as he found the most devastating angle. She could no longer tell the difference between the swipe or jab of his tongue and the kiss of his lips. It all combined into a ceaseless attack that had her teetering. Somewhere above the sound of the roar of her own blood and her increasingly louder moans, she thought she heard him hum in confident delight. His mouth moved slightly upwards and latched on to her, swirling his tongue around her, then taking her past his lips. She lifted her head and shouted out his name as she shattered.

* * *

"Matthew?" she asked, the words spoken against his neck.

"Mmm?" he replied, part mumble, part groan.

"What happens next?" she asked softly, her eyes open. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but she could feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek and the rest of his body as she curled against him.

"If Robert capitulates, then you'll be President," he said easily. "If he doesn't, I'll put it to a vote and force him out."

"And then what?" she asked.

"Whether you're President or not, whether I'm here, or in Manchester, I'll still love you," he said, his voice heavy, his eyes closed, his arm around her. "Things may become uncomfortable with your family. I may not be invited for dinner for a while. But nothing will change for me, darling. I'm yours."

She closed her eyes, allowing his words to sink in. Eventually she relaxed against him, kissing his chest and hugging him.

"Good," she whispered, and fell back asleep.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2015**

Robert waited impatiently as the lift brought him up to the office level. He was rather annoyed to receive Mary's call summoning him to Crockfords. He didn't particularly want to tour the expansion, which he assumed was what she meant when she said she had 'important business' to discuss with him. She loved to show off, and this was yet another example. He expected she would trumpet her accomplishments and boast about whatever obscure new record she had achieved now. He shook his head ruefully. After all these years, she still didn't understand fully. Being President of Crawley Group was not about drawing attention to oneself. It was about honouring the past, and in turn basking in the shared glory that the entire Grantham line evoked.

The elevator stopped and he frowned as he waited for the doors to open. Mary had only become more arrogant and rebellious since Matthew arrived. He was supposed to balance her, to keep her under control, pull back her ambition and make her understand where she belonged. But he had done the exact opposite, it seemed. Blindly encouraging her ideas, such as the expansion, and letting her stand ahead of him, to take the limelight, to continue with unfettered authority. The two of them were causing Robert more trouble together than Patrick ever did on his own.

He stepped on to the polished tile floor and composed himself as he was greeted by Mary's assistant, who had been waiting for his arrival.

"Lord Grantham," Anna said politely, bowing her head. "Right this way, please. Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley are in the boardroom."

Robert followed her down the hall to the glass-walled boardroom at one end of the floor. He was a bit puzzled by Matthew's presence. He thought it was just Mary that he would be meeting with. Then again, it wasn't that much of a surprise, he decided. Matthew followed Mary wherever she went these days.

Anna stepped aside and Robert passed her and entered the boardroom. She closed the glass door behind him and went back to her office.

"Hello, Papa," Mary said, coming over and kissing his cheek. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," he said, glancing over at Matthew standing on the other side of the conference table. "Matthew. What was this important matter that you wanted to discuss?"

They all took their seats around one end of the long table, Robert sat at the head, with Mary and Matthew on either side of him.

"I'm afraid we have some rather disturbing news, Papa," Mary explained. "We thought it best to tell you in person, rather than risk discussing it at the house."

"Disturbing, you say?" Robert frowned. "How so?"

"It concerns one of your guests for tomorrow night's party," Matthew continued. "Sir Richard Carlisle."

"Robert blinked but otherwise did not react. "Carlisle? What about him?" he asked.

"We have reason to believe that he is the man responsible for Patrick's murder," Matthew said heavily. "He ordered that Patrick be killed."

"What?" Robert exclaimed, staring at Matthew in disbelief. "But, how?"

"We know that Patrick died of a drug overdose," Mary said, drawing her Papa's attention back to her. "He bought the drugs in question from his usual dealer, a Mr. Alexander Green. However the drugs were tainted, we believe deliberately. We've just learned that Green worked for Sir Richard. He sold drugs out of his office in a popular nightclub owned by one of Sir Richard's companies."

Robert sat in stunned silence for a moment, then turned to Matthew.

"You're sure about this?" Robert asked quietly. "What was his motive? I didn't even know that Carlisle knew Patrick, for God's sake!"

"We have several theories," Matthew said. "Perhaps Carlisle wanted to weaken the company by removing one of its senior executives."

"Sir Richard would not have known that you would bring Matthew to London, Papa," Mary added. "And he wouldn't have expected us to turn around Patrick's division so quickly."

Robert nodded carefully in acknowledgment.

"Perhaps Patrick ran afoul of Carlisle in some way," Matthew said. "We know now that they shared a common connection in Green. Perhaps Patrick was a difficult customer, or perhaps he had designs on muscling in on Carlisle's territory on his own. Perhaps Patrick proposed a business deal with Carlisle and crossed him. It could be any number of things."

"But you don't know," Robert noted.

"We know enough that Carlisle cannot be trusted, and, in my view, he shouldn't be invited into your family home. He's our rival. That, in and of itself, is enough to not associate with him. Now that he had a role in Patrick's death, we should not speak to him at all."

"Carlisle may be useful to us," Robert said slowly. "I've been talking to him recently about having him invest in Crawley Group. With the increased capital, we could ensure the future of the company."

"You've had dealings with him?" Mary scoffed, feigning her shock. "Papa, surely you see how risky that is! Have you signed any agreement yet?"

"No, not yet. I can handle Carlisle," Robert replied. "I know him."

"Did you know that he was a murderer?" Matthew asked pointedly.

Robert turned away from Mary and met Matthew's cold stare nervously.

"Robert, Carlisle is not the kind of person we want as part of Crawley Group. I think that you should halt whatever dealings you've had with him immediately and have his invitation revoked. With sufficient time, we can investigate further if you wish, but I'm confident, based on what we have already, that we should keep him away from us," Matthew pressed.

"I agree, Papa," Mary noted.

Robert frowned, looking down the table. After several moments, he looked at Mary first, then turned to Matthew.

"No," Robert said quietly. "There may be a perfectly good explanation for all this. I won't jeopardize a potential multi-million dollar deal over conjecture. Leave Carlisle to me. I'll watch him, and if anything turns up, I'll deal with him."

"Papa, you can't be serious," Mary said shakily. "Sir Richard's money isn't worth it."

"Money is money, Mary," Robert retorted. "Didn't the two of you try and teach me that with your pathetic attempt to raise capital in Abu Dhabi? Carlisle is not joining this family. It's business only, and from a business perspective, I see no reason to refuse his generosity."

"It's not being generous, it's a scheme!" Matthew declared. "He has some other goal, some other objective, and offering to help finance Crawley Group is an illusion designed to distract you. Once you let him in, it will be near impossible to purge him from our network. You can't do this, Robert."

"Can't I?" Robert sneered, his anger building. "Funny, the last time that I checked, I was the President, not you, and not Mary. The two of you seem to take great delight in telling me what the company's next moves ought to be. I was running this company while the two of you were still wearing nappies. Don't presume to tell me what I can, or cannot do!"

"For the love of God!" Matthew rolled his eyes. "Do you hear what you're saying? You're too focused on your foolish pride to understand that you're leading us to ruin!"

"Ruin?" Robert repeated in angry confusion.

"He didn't mean that," Mary said.

"He does an awfully good job of pretending, then!" Robert snapped.

"I meant every word," Matthew warned, meeting Robert's stare. "You've been in discussions with one of our competitors without informing either the Managing Director or the Vice-President, Operations of your plans; plans which are detrimental to the company and its future. You may as well sell off the company now, at least we'll recover more for the assets than if you wait for Carlisle to destroy us from the inside."

"Destroy us?" Robert questioned, then turned to Mary. "You see how melodramatic he gets?"

Mary looked from Matthew to Robert. "Matthew wants you to be cautious, Papa. I'm just as shocked as he is that you've had dealings with Sir Richard. You always taught me not to be overly friendly with our rivals, and here you are about to go into business with one."

"I taught you that _you_ should not be overly friendly with our rivals," Robert corrected her. "You were still learning back then, Mary. You still are. I, on the other hand, am much more experienced and able to deal with more difficult challenges."

Mary frowned at his implication.

"You can't do this, Robert," Matthew said. "If we're right, then you would be entering into business with Patrick's murderer, to say nothing for the rest of Carlisle's deplorable record. You must see what an absolutely awful position you would be placing us in."

"And if you're wrong, then I will have given up millions that could ensure the future prosperity of the company," Robert countered. "You're going to have to do far better than that, Matthew."

"Money," Matthew said derisively. "That's what this is about? That's all that matters to you? We're a multimillion dollar corporation. The casinos have never been more profitable. Mary's expansion plans are projected to be an overwhelming success, and all you want is more money. The man has threatened me and your daughters. He had my mother put under surveillance. He had Patrick killed! Does none of that mean anything to you?"

"This is all conjecture," Robert struggled. "There's been nothing conclusive. We have our own surveillance of numerous persons of interest. That doesn't mean we have ill intentions towards them."

"Unbelievable," Matthew muttered, shaking his head. "You would sell your soul if the price was high enough."

"It's not just about the money," Robert said tightly.

"No, of course it isn't," Matthew laughed sarcastically. "It's about you. You and your precious legacy. Because there's the crux of it, isn't it? The success of the casinos, at best, is a shared accomplishment. You want all the glory for yourself, and this deal that you're hatching with Carlisle is yours and yours alone. Your lasting triumph."

"You don't even want to understand, Matthew," Robert waved his hand dismissively. "Mary was right about you all along. You're nothing but a small, false idol, sitting behind your computer monitors, collecting the bets of punters on football matches. You don't have the vision, or the will to be a President. I hoped that by bringing you here, you would learn our ways, but I see now that everything is indeed black and white with you."

"If you think I came here to become your heir, then you don't know me at all," Matthew shot back. "And I suppose that's my mistake, because I thought I knew you, just as I thought you knew me. You were always the Earl, the President, Lord Grantham in all his infallible perfection. How foolish I was."

"Matthew," Mary said, trying to stop him. She had never seen him so furious before. His eyes were cold and almost a fiery blue. His sat tall and rigid, somehow seeming to tower over Papa, even though they were both sitting down.

"No, Mary," Robert said. "Let Matthew go on with his delightful soliloquy. You do love to hear the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

"Not as much as you love the delusional image you have of yourself," Matthew retorted. "You're a petty, selfish man, believing you can buy respect, and admiration, and a legacy. You care nothing for the well-being of your family in your constant pursuit to accomplish something to cover up your stupid insecurities."

"Oh, bravo, Matthew," Robert spat. "A veritable pile of psychobabble that any television host would be proud of. I see what this is. This is jealousy, and envy, and spite. This is a little boy in a man's world who doesn't have the courage to make the important decisions, and rather than look in the mirror, takes out his own self-loathing by hating real men of power."

Mary watched the two of them, her heartbeat hammering in her chest. She had grown used to Papa's insults and snide remarks, but this vitriol that he was throwing at Matthew was far beyond anything she had heard before.

"You're right in a way," Matthew said with eerie calm. "I do hate you. I hate what you have become, or perhaps I hate the fact that you were always capable of this and I never saw it through the gloss that was the Earl of Grantham. But I tell you now, that I hate it, and if this is truly who you are, then I do hate you, sir."

Robert opened his mouth to reply, but the sheer venom in Matthew's voice and in his piercing stare silenced him.

"Crawley Group is nowhere near as important to me as you make it out to be," Matthew continued. "The casinos, the construction company, the tenants in the Village, I never cared about any of it. I came here because you asked me to. I stayed for Mary, and but for her, I would have left here when I had the slightest inkling of how shifting are the sands upon which you've built your castle."

"You're not fit to be with my daughter," Robert sputtered. "And you've sealed your fate, now. Mary is many things, but she is loyal. She won't betray me the way you have. She won't turn on her own family. She'll choose us over you every time."

Mary swallowed, her brow arching with concern.

Matthew didn't stop. "The difference between you and I, Robert, is I would never ask her to make that choice. Whether Mary agrees with me, or not, you will not continue with your plans."

Robert blinked at the foreboding nature of Matthew's words.

Matthew's voice cut through the silence. "You will step down from your position as President of the company and Chair of the Board of Directors, effective immediately. A short and succinct announcement will declare that you have decided to retire to pursue your personal hobbies that have been neglected all these years while you were working tirelessly for the good of the company and your family. We'll have a suitable retirement party in your honour with all the pomp and pageantry to which you are accustomed. Your shares will be converted immediately to non-voting, second priority class certificates, and you will have no say in any decision or direction of Crawley Group going forward. Any dealings that you have had with Sir Richard Carlisle, including any draft agreements or other documents that you have exchanged with him, or promises that you have made to him, will be revoked and rescinded."

"You have some nerve, after all that I've done for you," Robert said bitterly. "You think that you're man enough to go against me? I highly doubt it. I won't resign, and as Managing Director, you have no authority over the President. You're not on the Board. You have no vote. All you've done today is show me that you're nothing but a belligerent, insubordinate, unappreciative, little whelp. You'll never have the President's chair, Matthew."

"On that we agree," Matthew said crisply. "I don't want you in that chair, but neither do I want to take it myself."

Robert frowned. He looked at Matthew carefully, then glanced at Mary. His eyes widened when Matthew's words took hold. He turned back to look at him, his face pale.

"You can't be serious," Robert hissed.

"I am entirely serious," Matthew confirmed. "Mary will be the new President, and you will smile pleasantly for the cameras and fully endorse and support her succeeding you."

"Mary…President?" Robert exclaimed.

"Papa," Mary began.

"She isn't ready," Robert interrupted, gritting his teeth. "Both of you think it's so easy, don't you? You think you can do a better job than I have, I who have guided this company and this family for decades! I see now that Mary is a better candidate than you, Matthew. Mary is loyal. But she's not ready. I won't cooperate. I won't leave the company in either of your hands, not now."

Mary stifled her retort. She always knew that her Papa's faith in her was tenuous, but to hear it from his own lips so blatantly still hurt.

"If you insist on being so foolishly stubborn, then you leave me no choice but to take extraordinary measures," Matthew said ruefully. "The Board has the power to vote on the status of the company's officers where a serious threat to the best interests of the company exists. I imagine that Lady Rosamund and Lady Grantham will both be very interested to hear about your recent exploits and your dealings with Carlisle. I am prepared to spare you the shame of being lessened in their eyes, but if you insist on the matter being put before them, then it will be, at an emergency meeting of the Board of Directors, to be called immediately."

Robert smiled.

Mary looked at her father in surprise.

"So predictable, Matthew," Robert said, shaking his head. "You honestly believe that my own sister and Mama would stand against me? You think that your fanciful tale will convince them to remove me as President? At best, at best, Matthew, they might delay any negotiations with Carlisle until they have a chance to review the matter in detail. But forcing my resignation? Never. The only thing you will accomplish if you call a meeting is to destroy any favour that you have built up with them to date."

Matthew blinked.

"If only you would put as much effort into learning your place and behaving in a proper manner, you could have done great things, Matthew," Robert said wanly. "As it is, pursuant to my authority as President, I remove you as Managing Director of Crawley Group, effective immediately. You're fired, Matthew. Leave now, and let's avoid security having to throw you out on your arse."

"Papa," Mary spoke up. "You can't release Matthew."

"Mary, you know as well as I do that he can't stay after what he's done," Robert said, his eyes still on Matthew and not looking at her. "He knows it too. A power play, a coup, whatever you wish to call it, always has only two outcomes – the pretender to the throne either deposes the incumbent, or dies in the attempt."

"Papa, how can you honestly believe that bringing Sir Richard into the company can benefit us? The man is ruthless, calculating, power hungry and despicable. That's not who we are," Mary said.

"Mary, I'm not bringing him in. What Matthew fails to appreciate is that we are using Carlisle's money for the benefit of the company. He won't be able to do us any harm. I'll make sure of it. I'm not afraid of him," Robert said confidently.

Mary looked at Matthew imploringly. He looked over at her, his expression softening for just a second. He gave her a slight smile, then turned back to Robert with a cold stare.

"As you wish," Matthew said, raising his hand.

A sudden knock on the door almost made Mary jump in her seat. She turned and saw Alex standing at the door, a file folder in one hand, two security guards standing behind him.

"Come in, Alex," Matthew ordered.

Alex opened the door and stepped inside. Opening the file folder, he took out three sets of stapled documents and placed them in front of Mary, Robert and Matthew. Once done, he left the boardroom, closing the door behind him. The guards remained standing on either side of the door.

"Read it," Matthew said harshly, still staring at Robert.

Mary scanned over the pages. She recognized the heading on the front page and the language in the numbered paragraphs that followed. Her eyes widened in shock.

"What is this?" Robert frowned, flipping the pages. "What is this?"

"It's an Application, to be issued in Court tomorrow, seeking an order under the oppression remedy of the Companies Act. You are conducting the affairs of Crawey Group in a manner that is prejudicial to the interests of the shareholders, and I will be asking the Court for assistance in stopping you," Matthew explained calmly.

"You're…taking the company to Court?" Robert babbled.

"Actually, I'm taking you to Court, but the company is involved, clearly," Matthew corrected him. "I may add an additional suit against you and the company arising from my dismissal just now, which I take the position was wrongful, unlawful and entirely unjustifiable, but for now I'll accept that you were reacting rashly in the heat of the moment, and that you didn't actually mean to fire me and that I still have my job."

"Murray will deal with this," Robert said, waving the document in his hand. "I've done nothing wrong. Just because you don't agree with my decisions and the direction of the company is not sufficient grounds for removing me as President and taking my shares. No Judge will agree to this."

Mary closed her copy of the draft pleading and frowned.

"You're right," Matthew said. "The Court may rule ultimately that you are within your rights to carry on as you have. But they will need to review Crawley Group's operations to make a determination in that regard. Which means, all of the company's relevant finances, communications, resolutions and directives will be placed before the Court, and my lawyers will be entitled to search all of the company's records, examine all of the company's employees under Oath, and dig as deep as they want to gather evidence, and all of it will end up on the public record."

Robert's mouth fell open.

"Think of it as your last grand gesture as President, your everlasting legacy, if you will. Shining the light of truth and justice on the entire history of your rule," Matthew declared, smiling coldly. "You have the power to ensure the future of Crawley Group is a prosperous one, under Mary's very capable and brilliant stewardship. Or, win or lose, you can be known as the Earl of Grantham who wasted and lost the glory of the House in the fire of his own ego."

Mary could almost see the blood drain from Papa's face.

"You're bluffing," he choked out. "You won't cause the downfall of the company. It would be a cruel blow to Mary. She would never forgive you."

Matthew looked over at Mary. She looked back at him blankly, still processing all that had transpired.

"Mary's strong," Matthew said, looking back at Robert. "She'll survive. She's far better off on her own than continuing on with you in a sinking ship. The true question is whether or not you can afford to call my bluff. I'm not family, Robert, remember? I've already made it this far without relying on the company. Letting it fall won't bother me in the least."

Robert stayed quiet for several moments.

"I need time to think about this," he said finally.

Matthew took out his mobile phone and placed it on the table. He glanced at the clock on the screen, then back at Robert.

"You have ten minutes. If you wish to speak to Murray, you can use one of the auxiliary offices. If I don't have your answer shortly, Alex has instructions to call both Lady Grantham and Lady Rosamund to come here within the hour for an emergency Board meeting, and the draft Application is with my lawyers ready to be issued," Matthew said. "Surely that's plenty of time for a man of power to make a decision?"

Robert rose from the table and walked out of the boardroom, walking briskly down the hall and going into Patrick's old office.

Mary stood and watched him go.

Matthew got up from his chair and looked at Mary.

She held his gaze for a moment, then turned and left.

Matthew slowly sat back down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and buried his head in his hands.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2015**

"Invitation please," the security guard asked politely, holding his tablet computer in front of him.

"There you are," Tony said, handing the intricately designed card over.

"Lord Gillingham, Lady Mabel and Mr. Blake," the guard confirmed, comparing the photographs on his tablet to each of the guests standing before him. Satisfied, he motioned for them to proceed inside. "Welcome. Enjoy your evening."

Tony nodded to the guard and took Mabel's hand as they went inside. They joined the small line of guests and were soon announced by the Crawley family butler as they came into the large ballroom.

"Oh my," Mabel exclaimed, looking around. "Lady Grantham has outdone herself."

"Quite," Tony agreed. "Well, Charles, what do you think?"

"It's very impressive," Charles admitted, looking up at the gleaming chandeliers and across the room to the long table covered in white linens and large silver platters of food. "Where's Lord Grantham?"

Tony looked around as they moved into the room. "He's over near the orchestra with Lady Grantham," he said, seeing them smiling and laughing as they presided over a circle of their friends. "Do you want to go and talk to him?"

"Not yet," Charles said, smiling at Tony and Mabel. "I'm hungry."

They all moved over to the buffet area.

* * *

"Lord Gillingham, Lady Mabel and Mr. Blake have just arrived, Mr. Mason," the technician said, looking at his computer monitor.

"All right, let's keep an eye on Mr. Blake," William said, glancing at his own screen. "I'll send a message to Mr. Lewis and Mr. Crawley so they know he's arrived."

"Do we know when we can expect them to arrive?" the technician asked.

"In a few minutes, I would think," William said. "We have eyes on all the family. Lady Rose, Lady Sybil and Lady Edith are coming into the ballroom now and Mr. Lewis and Miss Smith are enroute. We're just missing Lady Mary."

* * *

"We have confirmation that our men are inside," Cyril said, looking at his mobile.

"Good," Richard noted, looking out the tinted window of his Rolls Royce. "And security?"

"There's guards at the front door and in the ballroom," Cyril said. "The loading area should be clear throughout the evening. That's where we'll get in. We just need to be quick about it. The kitchen staff may notice that you aren't exactly dressed like the help."

"They'll be too busy to notice," Richard scoffed. "And the guns?"

"Buried among the food trays and ice boxes," Cyril said. "Already inside."

"Very good," Richard smiled.

"We won't have very long, sir," Cyril said. "Once we're inside, they'll notice you soon enough. We're on the banned list, so security will be after us."

"We won't need very long," Richard said firmly. "I just want to look into Matthew Crawley's eyes the moment his world comes crashing down around him."

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, August 2015**

Matthew nodded to the security guards as he left his suite and took the lift down to the lobby. He looked at his phone, replying to Alex's text to say that he was on his way. He checked some sports scores as he left the hotel and reached the kerb, finally looking up in time to take the remote from the valet and pass him a tip.

"Thank you, sir," the valet said. "Enjoy your evening."

"I probably won't, but thank you," Matthew mumbled, getting into the driver's seat and closing the door.

He reached for the gear shift, then blinked as the passenger side door opened and a pair of long legs filled his vision. His eyes followed up to the hint of thigh revealed by the slit of a red dress, past a sleeveless bodice, the glimpse of cleavage and full red lips before arriving at a pair of dark brown eyes.

"Drive," Mary ordered.

He put the car in gear and pulled away from the kerb.

"Where to, my Lady?" he asked formally, heading towards London Bridge.

"Just drive," she said, looking out the window. "I'm not quite ready to make my appearance at the party yet."

He drove somewhat aimlessly, avoiding Belgravia and instead heading north. After the way their last meeting ended, he didn't dare say anything. This was the first time he had seen or heard from Mary since the confrontation with Robert at Crockfords the previous day. She had left the office without speaking to him and gone back to Grantham House. Last night was the first night they had slept apart in months.

"I suppose you're wondering whether I'm still angry with you," she stated.

"The thought did cross my mind once or twice in the past 24 hours when you didn't reply to my texts, or take my calls," he said.

"Well, I'm not angry with you, not anymore. I doubt I ever was, to be honest," she said. "I just needed some time after everything that happened."

"That's understandable," he managed.

"I'm sorry that I didn't call you. It was rather cruel, I'll admit. I could have at least responded and told you that I was all right and would get back to you eventually," she offered.

"I was worried, but not so much about right now," he replied. "I'm more concerned about what comes after the party."

"Matthew," she said, turning to look at him. "Pull over."

He parked the car and turned off the engine. Turning towards her, he waited for her to continue.

"I love you," she said. "What happened with Papa hasn't changed that. I am grateful for all you've done, and for your faith in me. It's just that it's going to be a bit difficult for the next while. Sybil and Edith still adore you, but Mama does not, and Papa, well, you already know."

He nodded.

"I don't particularly like being caught in the middle," she said. "Of course I would rather everyone got along, but that's not realistic at the moment, and so this will take some getting used to, is all."

"That's true," he agreed.

"One thing that I am concerned about, though, is what your plans are. Can you see yourself continuing as Managing Director with me as President?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Why? Don't you think I'm capable of working for you?"

"You are, I just don't know if you want to," she said. "To be honest, if the situation were reversed, I don't know if I could work under you."

"That's different. You've always wanted to be President. This isn't just a job for you," he said. "I don't feel as though I'm losing out by you being President. The exact opposite, actually."

"But this isn't your lifelong ambition," she said. "You never had designs on working for Crawley Group. What happens six months from now, or a year, and you realize this isn't what you want your life to be?"

"Then I suppose I'll go and do something else," he shrugged.

"That's what I thought you would say," she stated. "Matthew, why are you really here?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning at her question.

"You didn't come here just because Papa summoned you. You didn't come here to be Managing Director. You didn't even come here because you felt you owed it to Patrick. You came here for me, didn't you?" she asked.

He looked down at the gearshift, then looked back up at her, smiling nervously.

"Yes," he said. "It was never about the money, Mary, or the power or even taking over for Robert one day. I didn't come here for that."

"I know that now," she said. "And that's what I worry about the most. Darling, you can't live your life based only on me and what I'm doing. I feel as though you're just here to help me, to support me, and that you almost don't have a life of your own. I don't want you to miss out, to give up anything that you want just to be with me. It will only lead to resentment and anger later on."

"And what am I missing out on, exactly?" he asked, smiling at her with renewed confidence.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe you'd rather spend a month cycling through Tuscany, or go back to Manchester, or start your own business doing something completely unrelated to gambling. I want you to be happy, and I don't want you to depend entirely on me for your happiness, because that isn't healthy."

"All right," he said, leaning over and kissing her softly. "I promise to bike more," he said, kissing her again. "And to swim more, to watch more football," another kiss, "to read, to try new restaurants, and to play video games at all hours," another kiss, "all without you."

"Good," she said, kissing him back. "I think."

"And I promise to continue to be Managing Director, for now, to work for you," he said, looking at her intently. "And to keep on top of my division and my properties, because that makes me happy as well."

She grinned and nodded. "I was hoping you would."

"And, I promise to spend a very great deal of time with you," he said, kissing her again. "Doing all sorts of things, because that would make me very, very happy."

She laughed and ran her hands through his hair as she kissed him deeply.

"Now, I believe there's a party that we are rather late for, isn't there?" he asked. "Shall we?"

"If we must," she teased. "I suppose one advantage is that the venue of the party just happens to be the same location as my bedroom."

"Imagine that," he said smugly, pressing the button on the dashboard and starting the engine once more.

He turned the car towards Grantham House, his left hand moving over to rest on the sleek fabric covering her thigh. She placed her hand over his, keeping it there as they made their way to the party.


	30. Chapter 30

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, August 2015**

"Yes," he said. "It was never about the money, Mary, or the power or even taking over for Robert one day. I didn't come here for that."

"I know that now," she said. "And that's what I worry about the most. Darling, you can't live your life based only on me and what I'm doing. I feel as though you're just here to help me, to support me, and that you almost don't have a life of your own. I don't want you to miss out, to give up anything that you want just to be with me. It will only lead to resentment and anger later on."

"And what am I missing out on, exactly?" he asked, smiling at her with renewed confidence.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe you'd rather spend a month cycling through Tuscany, or go back to Manchester, or start your own business doing something completely unrelated to gambling. I want you to be happy, and I don't want you to depend entirely on me for your happiness, because that isn't healthy."

"All right," he said, leaning over and kissing her softly. "I promise to bike more," he said, kissing her again. "And to swim more, to watch more football," another kiss, "to read, to try new restaurants, and to play video games at all hours," another kiss, "all without you."

"Good," she said, kissing him back. "I think."

"And I promise to continue to be Managing Director, for now, to work for you," he said, looking at her intently. "And to keep on top of my division and my properties, because that makes me happy as well."

She grinned and nodded. "I was hoping you would."

"And, I promise to spend a very great deal of time with you," he said, kissing her again. "Doing all sorts of things, because that would make me very, very happy."

She laughed and ran her hands through his hair as she kissed him deeply.

"Now, I believe there's a party that we are rather late for, isn't there?" he asked. "Shall we?"

"If we must," she teased. "I suppose one advantage is that the venue of the party just happens to be the same location as my bedroom."

"Imagine that," he said smugly, pressing the button on the dashboard and starting the engine once more.

He turned the car towards Grantham House, his left hand moving over to rest on the sleek fabric covering her thigh. She placed her hand over his, keeping it there as they made their way to the party.

 **Chapter 30:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2015**

The sun was setting as he walked his dog down the quiet street, passing along the row of stately buildings. In another century, all of these posh addresses served as the city homes of the gentry, where aristocrats spent a few weeks at a time, entertaining during the Season before going back to their vast country estates for the rest of the year. Over the decades, many of these families were forced to sell their residences as their fortunes disappeared, such that today, a square that was once strictly residential now included offices and businesses. The head office of Rolex stood on one corner, the international headquarters of BP Global on another, with the Cyprus High Commission embassy in between the two. The exclusive East India gentlemen's club still stood in the same home it had occupied since the 19th century, though it no longer held a monopoly on the brokering of deals and private affairs.

His dog stopped and sniffed around an ornate lamppost, and he looked on with a wry smile. Yes, it was another century since those days, but St. James still clung to some of the old ways. Everything from the architecture of the restored buildings, to the giant trees in the quiet park space in the middle of the square, to the design of the fences and lampposts, spoke of another era, and the intended message was quite clear – even in modern times, this was the domain of the rich and privileged, exclusive as ever, and everyone else could walk on through, but would never be invited in.

Suddenly, his musings were interrupted by the dog yapping at a sleek black sports car driving past them, the growl of its engine breaking the silence. He pulled on the leash and urged the dog forward, keeping an eye on the car as it pulled over to the kerb in front of one of the last grand manor homes left in the neighbourhood.

"Got a car out front, black Nissan GTR," he muttered quietly, looking down at the dog. "Must be the last ones to arrive."

His voice echoed through the speakers set up temporarily in an office across the square. A group of MI:5 agents gathered around and watched the television screen, the black sports car filling the foreground. They watched as two uniformed valets came forward and opened the car doors. A tall man with blond hair, dressed in an expensive looking tuxedo exited from the driver's side and came around to the kerb just as a woman wearing a red dress was helped out of the car.

"Whoa," one of the agents exclaimed as he took in the svelte figure of the brunette. He coughed and patted his chest as he tried, and failed, to cover up his outburst from his fellow agents.

"That's Lady Mary Crawley, the eldest daughter," another agent said. "Which means that one must be…"

"Matthew Crawley, Managing Director of Crawley Group," another agent confirmed. "Why do you suppose they're late getting in?"

"Must be deliberate, to make a grand entrance," another agent shrugged. "These toffs love putting on a show."

"Text Blake and tell him it looks like the entire family has now arrived," the first agent instructed. "We'll hold position and keep watch, wait for his signal."

"Copy that," the dog walker said, cooing to the animal as he kept on strolling the pavement. He turned the corner and walked away from Grantham House, keeping an eye on the couple as he went.

From behind the dark tinted windows of a Rolls Royce parked on the other side of the street, two sets of eyes also watched the new arrivals intently.

"Finally," Richard muttered, narrowing his eyes. "They're here."

"It will take time before everyone is in place and we're ready," Cyril said, tapping away on his phone.

"There's no rush," Richard nodded. "Give them time to enjoy themselves a bit before the real fun begins."

* * *

"Thank you, sir," the valet nodded, handing Matthew his claim ticket and bowing respectfully.

Matthew nodded in return, looking the valet over briefly as he took the claim ticket, then turned away and offered Mary his arm. She took it and gave him a knowing smile as he escorted her up the stairs and into her family home.

"I keep forgetting that Cora hires external staff for this party," he said as they passed into the foyer. "I'm so used to dealing only with your family servants."

"Well, they're here as well," she said, nodding her head towards the end of the hall, where Carson stood at the large entrance to the ballroom. They could hear the music and the noise of the party as they approached.

"Nervous, darling?" he whispered, smiling to her.

"Of course not, why would I be?" she replied, though her tight swallow did not escape his notice.

"Oh, perhaps you're thinking about how this is your first public appearance as President of Crawley Group?" he teased. "A rather momentous milestone, wouldn't you say?"

"Shut up," she warned. "It isn't official yet. There's been no announcement."

"Formalities, only," he said easily. "Your family knows, and that's all that's important."

"Well, if I am the _de facto_ President, then I suggest you be on your best behavior, Mr. Crawley," she said, looking at him playfully. "I'm going to be doing a very thorough review of my senior staff, to make sure they're up to standard and are worth keeping on once I officially take power."

"Is that so?" she said, rising to her challenge. "And what will the criteria be that I am judged upon?"

"Willingness to take orders, ability to carry out my commands," she said in a low voice. "Whether you are prepared to make every effort to keep me satisfied. My Managing Director must be at my beck and call, day and night, to fulfill my every need."

He blushed.

"It's all with the best interests of the company in mind, of course," she added lightly.

"Of course," he grunted.

She smiled sweetly at Carson as they reached the ballroom, delighting in Matthew's obvious discomfort.

Carson gave her a kind greeting, and offered a more polite nod to Matthew, before he turned and announce their arrival.

"Lady Mary Crawley, and Mr. Matthew Crawley," the butler called.

Numerous heads turned to watch them enter. Some were curious. Others were jealous, or disdainful. Others still were impressed and intrigued.

Mary held on to Matthew's arm a bit tighter as she turned her head this way and that, smiling all the while.

"Thy subjects await thee, my Lady," he said warmly, rubbing her hand reassuringly as they reached the centre of the room and the first group of acquaintances came forward to say hello.

She gave him one last arched eyebrow before turning and greeting a family friend with a well-practised hug and cheek kiss, employing just the precise amount of enthusiasm to be cordial, but not so much as to suggest that she wanted the woman to stay and chat.

As Matthew stood next to her and shook hands with someone he didn't know very well, a waiter walked past them and moved briskly through the crowd, holding his empty silver tray close to his chest as he passed numerous couples on the dance floor.

* * *

"We should go over and greet Mary and Mr. Crawley," Anna said as she swayed to the music.

"In a moment," Alex smiled, holding her close. "The song will be done in a minute."

"Yes, but she might need me now to rescue her from all the people who want to get a piece of her," she objected. "Or she could have instructions for me."

"It's Matthew's job to protect her now, not yours," he replied easily. "And if there's anything urgent that you must know, then Lady Mary can come seek you out on the dance floor. We're busy dancing and if you keep ignoring me and looking over at your boss, I may just have to keep you here for another song."

"You've tried that before," she said, looking up at him pointedly.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" he retorted.

She laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "You don't fool me, you know," she said. "All this pretending to enjoy the party, as though you don't have a care in the world."

"I don't," he said lightly. "I'm with you. Everything is right in my world."

"Then why are you secretly glancing around each time we make a turn?" she asked. "You're checking things out, going over it all."

"I'm only taking in the grandeur of the ballroom," he said. "It's quite impressive, isn't it?"

"It is," she nodded, then drew his attention by looking up at him. "William has everything under control. We're just guests tonight, remember? You're not on security detail. You don't need to be watching the guests and spying on the hired help to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"I know," he sighed, giving her an apologetic smile. "Old habit, I guess."

She smiled at her small victory as he pulled her closer. He turned them and moved her away from several people who were walking past the dance floor on their way to the bar on the far side of the ballroom.

* * *

"Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley have arrived," the waiter announced as he reached the bar. "I need their drinks."

One of the bartenders nodded in acknowledgment and went about pouring a Coke with no ice and a lime wedge for Mr. Crawley, and a vodka Martini for Lady Mary. The waiter watched, patiently waiting for the two drinks to be finished so he could bring them over. He had worked enough of these parties to know how they worked. While the older crowd kept to the perimeter and talked the night away, the younger guests would spend their time on the dance floor, drinking and socializing. When the initial rush at the bars and the buffet tables died down, he would get a moment's peace and could duck out back for a cigarette and a drink of his own. That was a while away, though. For now, he needed to ensure the guests of honour were provided for, and it was obvious who they were tonight. The whole room seemed to turn and stare when Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley were announced.

"Coke with no ice and a lime for Mr. Crawley," the bartender said, placing the glass on the waiter's silver tray. "And a vodka Martini for Lady Mary. Be careful with that."

He nodded and picked up the tray with practised ease. _'This isn't my first time, thanks,'_ he thought ruefully. That was the problem with these bigger affairs. There were so many guests that outside help had to be brought in, and he ended up working with a crew he wasn't entirely familiar with, like this bartender, who he had never seen before at any other events he had worked for Ampersand. As he turned away from the bar with his precious cargo, he caught sight of a black mark on the back of the bartender's hand.

' _Now that's a rather interesting tattoo,'_ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes as he began the journey back to the centre of the ballroom. Tattoo on the back of the hand? Who in their right mind would think to get ink there? And it was hardly a small one, either. The thing spread across his hand like the wings of a bird.

The waiter didn't dare risk cutting across the dance floor with the drinks. He went around instead, passing by several older women in expensive looking evening gowns sitting on the antique sofas and settees set up along one wall, making his way carefully to Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley.

* * *

"But why now, Mama?" Rosamund asked, frowning at the Dowager Countess. "He never gave me any indication he was even thinking about retiring. Quite the contrary, in fact."

Violet Crawley shook her head in indifference. "He's obviously had an epiphany of some sort, and has decided he prefers a more genteel life. In any event, I'm pleased that he's passing the office on to Mary, rather than bringing in someone far less worthy."

"Someone such as Matthew Crawley?" Rosamund asked, smirking slightly.

"No, Matthew is certainly capable and would be a suitable President," Violet nodded. "However, through no fault of his own, he simply does not have the same love for the company as Mary does."

"Few do," Rosamund agreed, looking past the crowd to where Mary and Matthew were standing, making conversation with a group of guests. "I'll be quite shocked if that's what it came down to – whoever loves the company more. Robert has never been the sentimental type. I thought he brought Matthew here to succeed him when the time came."

"It's possible that he tried and Matthew refused, for whatever reason," Violet said, following her daughter's gaze over to Matthew and Mary. "And, if Matthew turned down being President because he felt Mary was better suited, then bravo to him."

They both watched as a waiter served drinks to Mary and Matthew. They raised their glasses to each other, then to whoever was holding a drink and standing in close proximity. A cheer went up as they sipped their drinks and the revelling officially began.

"I must admit," Rosamund sighed, smiling wanly at her niece. "They do make a lovely pair."

"They do," Violet smiled smugly. "A better match for Mary, I could not have imagined, as surprising as it came about."

"Now, if only we could be so lucky with the others," Rosamund said knowingly, her gaze moving from Mary over to a trio of beautiful women looking on from a small distance away.

* * *

"Shall we go and rescue them?" Rose asked, sipping her drink as she watched Mary and Matthew continue to exchange pleasantries with a crowd of guests.

"Why?" Edith inquired. "Mary loves this part of the evening. She's made her grand entrance and is now accepting her tributes. She could stand there all night and be perfectly happy."

"Well, shall we go and rescue Matthew then?" Rose smiled.

"He's on his own," Sybil smirked. "He knew what he was signing up for when they started dating. Besides, they've only just arrived. I expect he won't want to leave Mary's side so quickly, regardless of what pain he has to endure."

"You're probably right," Rose agreed. "I must say I can't believe that they're together, really together. He's always been entirely predictable but the way she looks at him, I didn't think it was possible for her to have such emotions. It's as though I don't even recognize my own cousin anymore."

"That's nothing," Edith said quietly. "Last night when Mary came home alone, I think it was the first night they haven't slept together in months."

"Really?" Rose noted in surprise.

"I was actually worried that something might be going on," Edith continued. "But she was fine all day and they don't appear as though they've been fighting."

"Or, if they did fight, they found a way to make up right quick," Rose giggled.

"Stop it," Sybil frowned. "Show some respect. That's my sister and your boss that you're gossiping about, you know."

"I'm well aware," Rose shrugged, completely unfazed. "But come on, are we really going to pretend that we think they _aren't_ going at it every night? I mean, look at them."

"Forget about nightly," Edith huffed. "You don't have to meet with the two of them every day. Sometimes watching them make eyes at each other makes me wonder if they aren't on a semi-hourly schedule."

"Edith!" Sybil admonished her sister.

"All right, all right, we won't talk about it," Rose laughed, rubbing Sybil's shoulder affectionately. "But I do really think that poor Matthew could use some reinforcements."

"Don't worry, he's getting some," Edith nodded, motioning towards the sight of Isobel making her way through the crowd to Mary and Matthew.

* * *

Isobel waited patiently for Mary and Matthew to finish speaking with an older gentleman – Mary's godfather if Isobel recalled Violet's advice correctly. Once the man nodded and took his leave, she stepped forward and interrupted what was becoming a makeshift receiving line.

"Isobel," Mary smiled, kissing her cheek. "I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"I am," Isobel smiled. "I think the two of you would be best served to move on, though. Remain here and you'll spending the evening doing nothing but exchanging greetings and salutations."

"She's probably right," Matthew said, smiling at Mary. "And I could use another drink."

"All right," Mary gave in. "I suppose we'll just be repeating the same process at the end of the evening so there's no need to talk to absolutely everyone right at this moment."

"Good," Isobel said pleasantly. "Let's head over to that table and have a bit of a chat?"

Matthew blinked in confusion, then followed his mother over to one of several high-top tables set up to the side of the dance floor. On the way, Mary waved over one of the waiters and ordered a round of drinks for them.

"I wanted to speak to the both of you about Robert, if I may," Isobel said once they had some semblance of privacy. "He's been in a bit of a mood since I arrived here earlier."

"That's hardly surprising," Mary said, looking at Matthew knowingly. "Papa will likely mope for a few days yet, perhaps even weeks. I'm hopeful he'll come around eventually."

"If he wants to be angry, or sad, or even petulant, that's his right, Mother," Matthew agreed. "I've forced him to resign and give up his position as President, majority shareholder and Chair of the Board. I can hardly expect him to be cheerful and jovial a day later."

"Perhaps, but he is the Earl of Grantham, and this is a family event," Isobel replied. "The least he can do is give the appearance of enjoying it."

"Mama or Granny will remind him of his duty, I'm sure," Mary said.

"They've tried, actually," Isobel said, shaking her head. "He wouldn't have it."

"Well, then there's nothing to be done, Mother," Matthew stated. "Leave the man alone. Let him cope with the changing world in his own way."

"I would think that you would not want the first days of Mary's presidency to be clouded by rumours of family unrest," Isobel said pointedly. "There will be enough speculation once the news hits. Talk about the Earl sulking at his own Season party will not help."

"She's right," Mary said, looking at Matthew. "Perhaps I should go and have a word with him."

"As admirable as that is, Mary, I don't think you'll get any further than Cora or Violet did. I think this requires a different tack," Isobel said, looking at Matthew intently.

"Me?" Matthew said after a moment, taking in the combined stares of his mother and girlfriend. "Oh no. You can't be serious. I'm the last person that Robert wants to talk to now."

"Which is all the more reason why it should be you to extend the first olive branch," Isobel noted.

"You're assuming that I want to talk to him and that I care about whether he comes around or not. I don't," Matthew objected. "I'm perfectly happy to proceed without him. That was the whole reason for the change in the first place."

"Matthew Reginald Crawley," Isobel said slowly, her voice tinged with menace.

"Mother…" he whinged, trying in vain to stave her off.

"You wanted Robert removed from the company and Mary elevated to his position, and you've done that," Isobel declared. "I should be quite disappointed in you if your goal was also to ostracize a man from his family, a father from his daughters, a husband from his…"

"All right! All right!" Matthew relented, covering his eyes with his hand and sighing in exasperation. "I'll go and talk to him."

"A brilliant idea," Isobel smiled at Mary before looking back at her frowning son. "You'll find him in the games room, I believe. He said something about going to play billiards."

"Can I at least enjoy my drink and have a dance with Mary before I ship out?" Matthew asked sarcastically.

"Of course," Isobel said, nodding to the waiter as their drinks were served. "Take as much time as you like, but be quick about it."

Mary grinned and clinked glasses with Isobel as Matthew stewed. They began discussing Isobel's plans to go back to Yorkshire and spend more time with Violet after the Season was over. She was enjoying herself so much that she didn't see any reason to return to Singapore or go anywhere else right away. Matthew barely listened, his pique simmering at the thought of having to go and placate Robert. He sipped his drink and looked across the room, finding Alex and Anna on the dance floor. They were obviously enjoying the party more than he was at the moment, he thought.

* * *

"There, that's four songs," Anna smiled, looking up at Alex teasingly. "Am I allowed to go now?"

"I don't know whether to be amused by how quickly you wish to be rid of me, or devastated by it," Alex replied, kissing her hand, then escorting her off the dance floor.

"I never said you couldn't come with me," she rolled her eyes. "Don't you need to check in with Mr. Crawley anyway?"

"No," he said, glancing down at his wristwatch. "Although I am scheduled for a small task in a moment."

"What task?" Anna asked, frowning at him in surprise.

"Hello!" a cheerful voice called.

"Rose," Anna said, blinking at the sudden appearance of Mary's cousin.

"Anna," Rose beamed. "Alex."

"Rose," Alex nodded.

"I'll leave you two to deal with whatever it is you're dealing with," Anna chuckled. "I'm going to have a quick word with Mary."

"I think Sybil and Edith were going to grab her for a drink," Rose said helpfully.

Anna nodded to Rose and smiled at Alex before leaving.

"Let's be quick about it," Alex said, taking Rose's arm and leading her away from the guests.

"Calm down," she chided him. "I won't keep you away from Anna any longer than necessary."

"Thank you," he said ruefully, taking out his phone as they reached a somewhat quiet corner.

* * *

William joined the conference call as soon as his phone vibrated in the holster on his hip. He touched his headset and greeted Alex and Rose quickly, his eyes roaming over the bank of monitors in front of him.

"So far, everything's clear," William said into his headset. "The valets are all on break until closer to the end of the evening and the square seems quiet. A couple people out walking their dogs, nothing more."

"Sounds good," Alex said, looking at Rose. "Anything particular about the guests?"

"Nothing. The guards carried out facial recognition on everyone as they arrived and there were no recorded anomalies," William said. "As for persons of interest, nothing extraordinary. Mr. Blake is here. He's spent most of the night with Lord Gillingham and Lady Mabel so far."

"Keep a careful watch, William," Rose said, looking up at Alex. "Sir Richard Carlisle isn't one to take rejection very well, and I doubt being banned from the party of the Season will sit well with him."

"Yes, Lady Rose," William acknowledged.

"Very well. Rose will do a quick run through all of the security staff and we'll check back in at the next window. Go and have a drink and maybe get some air, William. There's no use being cooped up in that room for the entire night," Alex ordered.

"Yes, sir," William said, hanging up the call. He looked over the monitors once more, confirming that the Crawley family, Matthew, Isobel, Anna and Alex were all safely enjoying themselves, and that Charles Blake and a few other guests of note were not up to anything.

"I'll be right back," William said to the technicians seated at the workstations around him. He grabbed a bottle of water from the table and turned away from the monitors. "Just going to head out to the back and get some air."

"Yes, Mr. Mason," one of the technicians acknowledged as William ducked out the door.

As their temporary operations room was on the top floor of Grantham House, it was more efficient for William and his staff to take breaks in one of the spare rooms. Each of the large windows opened on to a stone balcony, and they used the one on the St. James Square side, just above the servants' door, for their breaks. With the front door to the home on King Street, the staff came in through the side of the home, where access to the basement kitchen was easier and more efficient.

William sipped his water as he looked out over the square, darkened beneath the evening sky and lit by the numerous lampposts around its border. He took a moment and marvelled at all that he had been through over the past year. He thought he would be a doorman at Crockfords for a few years yet, then maybe one day work his way up to be a dealer or cashier. Now here he was, executive assistant to the Managing Director, and overseeing the surveillance group of the security team for the Crawley family Season party. A year ago, his only interaction with Lady Mary or anyone at her level was a nod and a brief word whenever she came and went from the casino. Now, his office was a few doors down from hers.

Smiling to himself, he looked down at the pavement below, scarcely believing what an impact Mr. Crawley had made on his life when he had picked him out from a group of employees and everything changed.

A van bearing the logo of the catering company pulled up to the kerb below and William watched as a few workers got out and began hauling trays into the house through the servants' entrance. The small dishes being served throughout the evening were cooked _á la minute_ for the most part, and given the number of guests being fed, all of the ingredients were prepared offsite, then cooked and plated in the kitchen downstairs. It was an operation that required military precision, and William was quite impressed as he had been watching it all unfold over the course of the evening. It seemed that the platters on the buffet tables were replaced with fresh food the moment that supplies were running low. Everything was so seamless, the army of servers moving about almost entirely unnoticed.

Taking out his phone, William took a few photos of the men below unloading their produce, the trays of ingredients passed from one man to another in quick succession. He always appreciated an efficient and organized unit.

Finishing his water, William turned away from the window and headed back towards the surveillance room, scrolling through his photos. The light from the lampposts helped ensure the nighttime photos came out perfectly clear and in focus. He reached the surveillance room and glanced over the monitors as he put his headset back in. On one screen, he noticed that Mr. Crawley was dancing with Lady Mary. William was about to close the photo app on his phone when something about the particular shot he took of the caterers caught his eye. He looked more closely at the photo, wondering what he thought was so special about it.

"Mr. Mason, Lord Grantham is alone in the games room," a technician called.

William looked away from his phone and turned his head towards the technician's monitor. The Earl was playing billiards by himself it seemed. Earlier, some of his friends were playing with him but they seemed to have left.

"That's all right. He has two guards in close proximity watching him," William said. "Besides, it's his house. He can do what he wants."

* * *

"Goodness, bored of dancing with me already?" Mary teased, looking up at Matthew's frowning face.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said, softening his expression. "Of course I'm not bored of you. I could never be bored of holding you in my arms."

She smiled at his words. She never knew him to be so sappy before, but romantic proclamations seemed to pour from his lips at random since they started dating. Stranger still, she found she looked forward to such wonderful drivel.

"I know you don't want to talk to Papa, but I do think your mother is right," she said patiently. "Whether he's the President or not, he's still the head of my family. The two of you will have to learn to get along somehow."

"I realize that," he said. "I just didn't think I would be the one to have to grovel to him."

"You're not groveling, you're being the bigger man," she corrected him. "And you have my deepest gratitude for it."

"I'm glad for it," he sighed. "I think Cora, Rosamund and Violet will all think it entirely appropriate that I be the one to mend fences."

"Don't be so sure," she smiled. "They've had to endure Papa's tantrums for far longer than either of us have. I can't see them holding him blameless in all this, even if we didn't tell them the entire story."

The orchestra brought the song to an end and Mary and Matthew pulled back from each other slightly, holding their joined hands between them.

"Kiss for luck?" he asked hopefully, smiling at her.

"Bring Papa back in here and you'll be getting much more than a kiss from me later," she whispered, leaning forward and kissing him lightly.

"Well, off I go, then," he grinned.

She smiled as he squeezed her hands, then left, heading in the direction of one of the side doors.

"May I have this dance?" a voice called.

Mary turned around and blinked in surprise.

"Tony," she smiled politely as he came up to her and extended his hands. "Of course. Why not?"

* * *

The door to the games room was ajar when Matthew arrived. Seeing Robert inside, he knocked lightly, then went in.

The Earl looked up from the table and frowned as he saw Matthew come in and close the door behind him. Sighing, Robert turned back to the table and hit his shot, the cue ball whacking one of the red balls with a resounding crack.

"Is tardiness to be one of the things that we can expect from your new regime?" Robert asked, walking over to the side table and taking a sip of his drink. "You and Mary were over twenty minutes late."

Matthew came into the room and was about to reply when he decided to cross over to the bar and pour himself a drink instead, using the pause to quell the rebuke that came instantly to mind.

"It's my fault, I'm afraid," Matthew said casually, taking his drink and turning back to Robert. "I hope you won't blame Mary for it."

"I don't," Robert replied, turning away from Matthew and looking over the table. "She can't be blamed for any of the unfortunate events that have occurred as of late. I expect that none of it was her idea."

He leaned forward and lined up another shot. "She doesn't have the temerity for it."

"I think she can be quite bold when the situation calls for it. But you're right, she shouldn't be blamed for any of it. It's actually quite unfortunate for her," Matthew said without flinching, watching Robert aim at ball along the far cushion of the table. "Once again, she's left to clean up a mess she's inherited from someone else."

Robert almost scuffed his shot as Matthew spoke. He paused, hit the ball firmly, then raised back up and glared at Matthew before walking away, keeping the table between them.

"Is there a reason you've chosen to grace me with your presence?" Robert asked, his voice heavy with ire. "This is the games room. Either take up a cue, or leave. The table won't be free for some time yet if you want to play by yourself."

"I'm afraid snooker really isn't my game," Matthew answered.

"Really?" Robert sneered. "Well, that shouldn't stop you. You enjoy trying your hand at things that you have no understanding of, don't you?"

Matthew rolled his eyes and finished the rest of his drink in one long gulp.

"Robert, I am sorry," he began.

"Well, that makes up for everything!" Robert retorted, glaring at him before he went back to looking at the table. "The man says he's sorry. Golly gumdrops!"

"I'm not sorry for stopping you from making a colossal mistake," Matthew continued. "I'm not sorry for forcing your resignation, and I'm certainly not sorry to see Mary in her rightful place as President."

"If you've come here to gloat, Matthew," Robert scoffed.

"Hear me out, please," Matthew said, raising his hands in front of him. "What I am sorry for is driving a wedge between you and your family. If it's because of me, and what happened, that makes you hide yourself in here rather than spend the party where you belong, with your wife and daughters, then I am sorry for that."

Robert looked up at the ceiling and sighed. He stamped the floor lightly with the butt end of his pool cue.

"You expect me to believe that, do you?" he asked, his voice a bit softer and quieter. "You expect me to believe that you can have me deposed one minute, but still care about my feelings the next?"

"It's the truth," Matthew said firmly. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, it's the truth. I do care, about you, and about this family."

"Well, I doubt that," Robert said resignedly. "But I suppose that for Mary's sake, I'll need to believe it one day."

The two men stood silent, Robert looking blankly down at the pool table, Matthew watching him cautiously. After a moment, Matthew walked over and fetched Robert's empty glass and brought it to the bar. Smelling the drink to confirm his suspicion about what the man was drinking, he refilled his glass with Louis XIII cognac. He brought it back and offered it to him. Robert looked at Matthew's outstretched hand for a moment, then took the glass, raising it slightly, then taking a sip as Matthew did the same.

"You know, I looked up to you even when my father was still alive, and more so after he died," Matthew said, breaking the silence. "If you feel that I've betrayed you, that wasn't my intention."

Robert stared down at his drink, then nodded slowly.

"I made him a promise, you know," he said quietly. "It was over a decade ago. Reggie asked me to look out for you, to watch you. I think he figured even then that it was more likely you would end up in my world rather than in his, and he made me vow to take care of you, to not let any of this change you."

Matthew stared with wide eyes at this revelation.

"How disappointed you must be," he said at last, his voice quiet and resigned.

"No," Robert shook his head, still not looking at Matthew. "No, I'm not, not only with you anyway. I'm disappointed that I let him down. Either I didn't teach you well enough, or I really did make a mess of things to the point that you felt you had to do what you did. In any event, whatever I did, whatever role I played to bring us to where we are now, I'm sure that isn't what Reggie envisioned for you."

Matthew nodded, watching Robert as he took another sip of his cognac and stared at some unknown point on the table.

"Is your legacy so important to you?" Matthew asked.

Robert finally looked over at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Honestly," Matthew continued. "Are you truly so concerned about what state you'll leave the company in? Do you worry about how we'll go on without you in command?"

"I'm the last Earl," Robert sighed. "If there is an heir, I don't know him at present. It's not so much about the title, or who it may pass to. So long as the company thrives, then the past glory of our family will go on. I know you don't care about any of that, but Mary has been raised to care about it, Edith and Sybil as well, to a degree. You think all I care about is my own legend, but you're wrong. I don't want my daughter to be saddled with fixing my mistakes in addition to carrying that duty to her ancestors. Ensuring the future of the company isn't about cementing my legacy. It's about giving Mary every advantage I can."

"Can't you see, though, that by trying to protect her, you're actually crippling her?" Matthew asked, trying very hard not to hold back any note of scorn in his voice. "She's spent her entire life trying to prove herself worthy, and not only have you not told her that she is, but you don't trust her enough to take over for you."

"It's not that I don't trust her!" Robert grunted. "And I'll have you know that a proper Englishman does not wax poetic about his love for his daughters."

"All the same, it wouldn't hurt for you to let them know that they have your love, at least once," Matthew replied.

Robert shook his head ruefully.

"Whatever the future holds, Mary will deal with it," Matthew pressed. "She likely will come to you for advice when she needs it, even keep you updated on how things are progressing. I never wanted to cut you out of the picture altogether. I only wanted to stop you from aligning us with Carlisle."

"I still don't see what you find so dangerous about him," Robert said. "I would almost say you're jealous for some reason, if I didn't know better."

"He is dangerous," Matthew said firmly. "And he would have got his hooks into us so deep that by the time you realized your mistake it would have been far too late."

"Well, it's a moot point now," Robert sighed. "What's done is done."

"Come back to the party," Matthew said. "If not for me, then do it for your family who are so desperate to see you that they sent me of all people to try and draw you out."

Robert snorted in disbelief.

"You know, if your legacy is such a point of concern, consider this, Robert," Matthew said, going to the door. "The company is profitable. Mary is a talented and brilliant executive. Edith runs her own division and is entirely capable from what I've seen, and Sybil will have her Masters degree at the tender age of 24, while also being self-driven enough to want to make her own way."

Robert frowned. He placed the pool cue down on the table and circled around towards Matthew.

"You've helped raise three brilliant and beautiful daughters. Three outstanding women that you can be proud of, and who will honour your family name," Matthew said. "I think you would be hard pressed to find a previous Earl who could say as much."

Matthew opened the door. Robert looked at him for several moments, then walked past him and down the hall back to the ballroom. Shaking his head and smiling wryly, Matthew followed behind and went to look for Mary.

* * *

"It's been quite an evening," Tony said, smiling as he danced with Mary. "I prefer being at Crockfords, but we don't get to dance there, so this does have its benefits."

"And how is Mabel enjoying herself tonight?" Mary asked, smiling politely. "I hope she isn't searching desperately for you."

"She's fine. She's with Charles," Tony replied easily. "And she knows she can trust me, that this is nothing more than a dance between two very dear friends."

Mary nodded and looked at Tony's shoulder, avoiding his adoring gaze. His mention of the word trust immediately brought images of the horrible video of him and the prostitute, Ethel Parks, to her mind.

"Mary, I need to warn you about something," he said quietly, his expression turning serious. "There may be a bit of commotion later on in the evening."

"What? Why?" she asked in alarm, frowning at him.

"I can't say. I don't know for sure," he replied. "But there are some here who have certain secrets, and others will stop at nothing to have them found out."

"You're being very opaque, Tony," she said. "And you're worrying me. What's going on?"

"It may be nothing," he said, trying to reassure her. "Just be mindful, that's all I ask. I don't want you to get caught up in anything, should it occur tonight."

"Should what occur tonight?" she demanded. "Tony, you can't say such things and expect me to be calm about it, particularly when you won't reveal anything else!"

"It's not my secret to tell, dear Mary," he said. "But don't worry. It doesn't involve you, at least not directly, and so long as you're careful, you'll emerge unscathed."

Before Mary could say anything else, the song ended and Tony stepped back. He kissed her hand and bowed his head to her before leaving her on the dance floor.

She watched him retreat, utterly confused by his warning, debating whether she should go after him and demand an explanation as he rejoined Mabel and Charles Blake.

"Dancing by yourself now, are you?" Matthew asked, coming up behind her and taking hold of her waist.

"I was waiting for you, actually," she answered, turning in his arms to face him. "Did you convince Papa to come back?"

"I did," he nodded. "We aren't at peace yet, but I believe I may have brokered a tenuous truce for this evening, at least."

"Well done," she smiled at him.

"Does this mean you'll reward me later on?" he asked playfully.

"It certainly looks that way," she said. "Come, I need a drink."

He led her off the dance floor and towards the bar. She glanced back across the room in Tony's direction. He was having a conversation with Mabel and wasn't looking in her direction.

Charles Blake was, however, and their eyes met briefly before she looked away and focused on Matthew.

* * *

"What do you think that was about?" the technician asked as he and William watched Charles Blake turn around and begin talking with Tony and Mabel.

"No idea, but Lady Mary didn't look too pleased," William said, frowning at the monitors. "Anyway, if there's anything for us to do about it, Mr. Crawley will give us instructions."

"Mr. Mason," another technician called. "The catering van is back at the servant's entrance."

William turned and walked over to the technician's workstation and watched as the same group of staff that he had seen before got out and passed trays down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"That's fine," William said. "They're probably just bringing in the items for the sweet and savoury table and the waffle station."

"Yes, sir," the technician acknowledged.

William was about to turn away and go back to the main bank of monitors when a vague reminder flared in his mind, though he had no idea what he was supposed to remember.

"Keep the camera on them for a moment, please," William asked, staring at the screen more closely.

"Yes, sir," the technician confirmed.

William watched them unload the trays for another minute. He then pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photographs he had taken earlier. Looking at his phone then back up at the monitor, he frowned as he tried to decipher what his memory was apparently trying to tell him.

"Wait a minute," he mumbled, pressing his fingers to the phone screen and zooming in on a part of the photo. He stared at it, then his eyes widened as he looked back up at the monitor.

"Play back the feed, please," he ordered, feeling anxious as the technician started the video from the moment the van arrived.

William watched as the trays were once again unloaded and passed from man to man and brought down through the servants' door to the kitchen downstairs.

"Fuck," he gasped, grabbing his phone and furiously typing a text message. "No, no, no, no…"

"What is it, sir?" the technician asked worriedly.

William did not look up from his phone as he sent the texts. "One of the catering staff doesn't really work for them," he explained hurriedly. "It's Daniel Tom, a person of interest. And if he is here, then that means none of the outside catering staff are really just catering staff either."

* * *

"This will be the last of it," Cyril said as he and Sir Richard watched the contents of the catering van being unloaded into Grantham House. "We'll be in position in about ten minutes."

"Good. Once the van is unloaded, we'll go in through the servants' door. There will be too much commotion for them to notice us," Richard said.

"Until we get to the ballroom, that is," Cyril noted. "They'll have cameras on the room. It may be just seconds before they see us."

"That's all the time I need," Richard sneered, nodding as he rubbed his hands together. "By the time they warn Matthew, it will be too late."

* * *

"There's Lord Grantham," Charles said quietly, watching as Robert and Cora stood together near the centre of the room, surrounded by guests. "I was beginning to wonder if he would ever come back in."

"Are you still going to go ahead?" Mabel asked.

"With the first part, yes," Charles replied. "What happens beyond that is up to Lord Grantham, and it's better that you don't know about any of it."

Tony nodded in understanding.

"The two of you should keep to the side, close to the wall," Charles said seriously, looking at Tony. "It'll be safer there. You won't get trampled and you can make a quick exit if necessary."

Tony nodded grimly.

Charles left them without another word, playing with his phone quickly as he crossed the room. Putting his phone away, he looked up as he made his way towards Lord Grantham, reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer jacket as he went.

* * *

"We're a go," the agent said. "We'll go down King Street and go in through the front door. There's no staff outside. The minute the door opens, we're in."

The MI:5 agents quickly left the room and went outside on to the street. They were all dressed in black tie, the better to fit in with the guests inside the party. None of the other guests though were wearing gun belts beneath their suit jackets. Whether the agents would need to make use of their concealed weapons was partly up to Charles Blake and Lord Grantham.

* * *

"I have no idea what Tony meant, but I can't help but feel it must involve Charles Blake somehow," Mary whispered, looking at Matthew with concern.

Matthew scanned the room and picked out Charles Blake among the guests. The government agent was making his way towards the centre of the large ballroom. Matthew looked ahead of him and saw that Robert and Cora were standing a fair distance away.

"Find Edith and Sybil and try and stay off to the side, near an exit if you can. Probably a good idea to have Anna with you as well," Matthew said, taking out his phone. "I'm going to just have a word with Robert."

"What do you think Mr. Blake is up to?" she asked in concern.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he said, trying to smile encouragingly. "Tony probably was trying to get your attention, trying to appear mysterious, or something. There's nothing to worry about. But, all the same, keep an eye on your sisters."

She nodded and gave him a careful smile in reply before he turned and made his way through the guests towards her parents.

She frowned, then turned in the opposite direction and headed for the side door, waving at Edith and Sybil to come over to her as she went.

* * *

Alex's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen briefly, then put the phone away.

"Checking sports scores?" Anna teased him.

"Something like that," he smiled. "Why don't you go and find Lady Mary? I have to check in with Rose and William. I won't be long."

Anna looked across the room and spotted Mary with her sisters over by the wall.

"All right. We'll be over there. Just come and get me when you're done," she said.

"I will," he said, giving her a nod and a smile, then turning in the opposite direction.

"What do we do now?" Rose asked, appearing at his side.

"If the Albanians are in here, we need to secure the family," he said quietly. "Matthew and Lord Grantham are the two priorities, with Lady Mary and her sisters next."

"I've sent men downstairs and the family's guards are all inside the ballroom, but with so many guests and multiple entrances, it'll be impossible to keep anyone in or out without causing an alarm," she said.

"I know. A commotion is the last thing we want," he nodded. "Let's get to Matthew and Lord Grantham first, get them and Lady Mary and her sisters out of here. We'll work out the rest afterwards."

He and Rose headed in the direction of Lord Grantham standing in the centre of the ballroom.


	31. Chapter 31

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2015**

"I have no idea what Tony meant, but I can't help but feel it must involve Charles Blake somehow," Mary whispered, looking at Matthew with concern.

Matthew scanned the room and picked out Charles Blake among the guests. The government agent was making his way towards the centre of the large ballroom. Matthew looked ahead of him and saw that Robert and Cora were standing a fair distance away.

"Find Edith and Sybil and try and stay off to the side, near an exit if you can," Matthew said, taking out his phone. "I'm going to just have a word with Robert."

"What do you think Mr. Blake is up to?" she asked in concern.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he said, trying to smile encouragingly. "Tony probably was trying to get your attention, trying to appear mysterious, or something. There's nothing to worry about."

She nodded and gave him a careful smile in reply before he turned and made his way through the guests towards her parents.

She frowned, then turned in the opposite direction and headed for the side door, waving at Edith and Sybil to come over to her as she went.

Alex's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen briefly, then put the phone away.

"Checking sports scores?" Anna teased him.

"Something like that," he smiled. "Why don't you go and find Lady Mary? I have to check in with Rose and William. I won't be long."

Anna looked across the room and spotted Mary with her sisters over by the wall.

"All right. We'll be over there. Just come and get me when you're done," she said.

"I will," he said, giving her a nod and a smile, then turning in the opposite direction.

"What do we do now?" Rose asked, appearing at his side.

"If the Albanians are in here, we need to secure the family," he said quietly. "Matthew and Lord Grantham are the two priorities, with Lady Mary and her sisters next."

"I've sent men downstairs and the family's guards are all inside the ballroom, but with so many guests and multiple entrances, it'll be impossible to keep anyone in or out without causing an alarm," she said.

"I know. A commotion is the last thing we want," he nodded. "Let's get to Matthew and Lord Grantham first, get them and Lady Mary and her sisters out of here. We'll work out the rest afterwards."

He and Rose headed in the direction of Lord Grantham standing in the centre of the ballroom.

 **Chapter 31:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2015**

Daniel Tom walked down the narrow downstairs hallway and into the busy kitchen. He passed through the organized chaos of cooks and runners scurrying about to finish the dishes that would be served for the savoury and sweet dessert table to finish off the evening. Clearing the gauntlet, he turned towards the rear storage area and moved quickly to a stack of boxes arranged along the back wall. He lifted the top two boxes and set them aside, then opened the third and peeked inside to confirm its contents. Satisfied, he took the third box off the stack and replaced the other two. Carefully picking up the third box, he retraced his steps with his cargo.

"You over there!" one of the cooks called out.

Daniel turned his head to look at him, not stopping his stride.

"Get back as soon as you can!" the cook ordered. "We need to clear the tables upstairs when the first batches go up."

"All right! Okay!" Daniel replied, continuing on out of the kitchen.

Instead of turning back towards the servants' entrance, he went the other way, towards the back stairs. He passed by several legitimate servers on his way, and ignored them entirely as he kept going. Reaching the ground floor, he moved towards the ballroom, then ducked into a small room. The door was closed behind him as he carried the box over to a table.

"Let's go, hurry," a man said as a group of waiters and valets gathered around the table. The box was opened and the guns and ammunition were passed out, the click and snap of magazines being checked and loaded ringing out through the room.

"Go," the man nodded to Daniel.

Daniel picked up the empty box and headed for the door to bring it back downstairs and out to the van. As he left, the others formed a line, stowing their guns inside their suit jackets.

"We're ready," the man said into his headset.

* * *

Matthew reached Robert and Cora, smiling and nodding to the circle of guests gathered around them. He glanced back and saw Charles Blake heading right for them, still a minute or two away with the crowd between them. Alex and Rose were also approaching, a little bit closer.

"Cora," Matthew called. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Matthew," Cora smiled as she and Robert turned towards him. "Yes? What is it?"

Matthew glanced back at Charles once again before continuing.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the initiative to have a little…surprise…planned for you and Robert," he explained.

"A surprise?" Robert frowned.

"Yes," Matthew smiled. "If you both could just head over to the other side of the room and see Mary and the others, I just need some time to set things up."

"You're being rather mysterious," Cora noted.

"Well, erm, such is the nature of surprises," Matthew replied. "Now, please, just humour me, won't you? It's been such a wonderful night so far and I'd like to do something for the both of you as a gesture of my gratitude for everything from the time I arrived, especially in light of recent events."

Cora looked at Robert and smiled at him encouragingly.

The Earl softened his expression and nodded to her.

"Very well," Robert sighed, taking Cora's hand. They made their excuses to their guests, then made their way towards where Mary, Sybil, Edith and Anna were standing, just as Alex and Rose arrived at Matthew's side.

"You got William's text?" Rose asked Matthew.

"I did," Matthew nodded, turning to look for Charles Blake. "I think we should try and keep Robert in the ballroom. I don't think the Albanians are here for him, but hiding him away may be a risk."

"What about you?" Alex asked.

"I need to deal with Mr. Blake first," Matthew said. "Make sure that our guards are warned and ready. I can't see anyone making a move with so many people around. They'll likely try and isolate me outside first."

"We'll bring in the perimeter around Mary and her sisters," Rose said, taking out her phone. "We can't cover all the entrances, but we'll make them come to us. Remember, our men have blue pocket squares in their suit jackets."

"Have Carson and Bates stay with Robert and Cora," Matthew ordered. "I've sent them over to Mary for now. I told them we're planning some sort of surprise. She'll know that something's going on and that she needs to keep her parents close. Hopefully by moving them about the room, it keeps the Albanians on the back foot."

"I'll stay with you," Alex said to Matthew.

"All right, stay alert and keep comms open," Matthew said.

Rose put her headset in her ear and moved off after Robert and Cora. Alex followed Matthew as he headed towards Charles Blake, glancing around to keep track of where the waiters were in the room.

* * *

"Mama, Papa," Mary greeted her parents, looking at them curiously as they reached her side.

"Well?" Cora asked, smiling at her daughters.

"Well what?" Sybil asked.

"Well, what's the surprise?" Robert asked, looking at his daughters expectantly.

"The surprise is apparently on us," Edith said, looking at Mary in confusion.

"Surprise?" Mary frowned, glancing past her parents and across the room. She saw Matthew and Alex huddled with Charles Blake and blinked in understanding. "Yes, the surprise! Of course!"

"Matthew sent us over here so he could prepare it, he said," Cora nodded.

"Yes, exactly," Mary smiled. "Well, erm…we should…go…then."

"Go?" Sybil asked. "Go where?"

"Erm…" Mary swallowed.

"The Dowager Countess!" Anna said.

"Pardon?" Robert frowned, looking at her.

"What about Granny?" Edith asked, completely flummoxed.

"Well…we should…go and see her," Anna mumbled, looking at Mary desperately.

"Is Mama part of the surprise?" Cora asked eagerly, enjoying the idea more as each detail was revealed.

"Only one way to find out!" Mary said pleasantly, gesturing for her parents to go ahead. "Let's go and see Granny, Aunt Rosamund and Isobel. They're just sitting over there."

Robert gave Cora a sidelong look, then nodded and took her hand, moving in the direction of the sofas set up at the other corner of the ballroom.

"What surprise is this?" Sybil whispered, taking Mary's arm as they followed after their parents.

"I don't know, but obviously Matthew sent Mama and Papa over to us because he felt they were better off here than over there," Mary replied. "We have to keep them moving until we know what's going on, give Matthew the time he needs to do whatever it is he's doing."

"Alex is with him, and they're speaking with Mr. Blake," Anna said, glancing across the room. "You don't think that Mr. Blake is a threat, do you?"

"I'm not sure," Mary said gravely. "Let's hope not."

"Let's hope that Mr. Blake is the only possible threat to be concerned about," Edith said as they passed by a bartender and two servers carrying racks of glasses.

* * *

"Mr. Blake," Matthew said formally, nodding as he came in front of Charles' path.

"Mr. Crawley, Mr. Lewis," Charles replied, frowning as he tried to look past them.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Matthew asked. "Can I get you anything?"

"It's a very lovely party," Charles said politely. "I was just looking for Lord Grantham, actually."

"Ah, well Robert was called away on a family matter," Matthew said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, I really should speak with Lord Grantham himself," Charles stated.

"If this is a company matter, Matthew is the Managing Director of Crawley Group, as you know," Alex said. "He surely has enough authority to deal with whatever matter you have."

"It's a personal matter, actually," Charles said, looking at Alex intently, then glancing at Matthew rather suspiciously.

"Well you're in luck then, Mr. Blake," Matthew said pleasantly. "Robert is practically my father-in-law, so I'm sure he would be comfortable with me dealing with personal matters on his behalf as well."

Alex blinked in surprise, but kept silent.

Charles frowned slightly.

"Or, you could continue to search for him, maybe wait for him to come back?" Matthew suggested. "It's a very large room, as you know, and he has many guests who want to speak with him so it could be a while."

"If he's even still in the ballroom," Alex shrugged. "He sometimes plays the tour guide at these events. Everyone is so eager to see the della Francesca in the parlour."

Charles looked at Alex curiously, then turned back to Matthew.

"Very well," Charles conceded. "I am in a bit of a rush and this is a rather urgent matter. Perhaps you can assist me after all."

Charles reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Alex tensed. He didn't have his gun on him, but if Charles dared to pull a weapon on Matthew, he would step between them and try to disarm the government agent if it came to that.

Matthew blinked as Charles retrieved a folded document from his jacket pocket.

"This is a warrant," Charles explained, handing the papers to Matthew. "I have orders to serve it upon Lord Grantham, and I should tell you that I have agents outside waiting to assist me in enforcing it."

Matthew frowned as he read over the warrant. He passed it to Alex, then turned his attention to Charles, looking past the man and catching a glimpse of Mary bringing her parents to the far corner of the ballroom.

"This is rather extreme, isn't it, Mr. Blake?" Matthew asked. "Disturbing a Season party to carry out your warrant? Surely you could have saved this for when your target was in his office?"

"Unless of course, MI:5 wants to put on a show," Alex added. "Cause a big stir and send a message?"

"We don't care about messages," Charles smiled. "We focus on getting our man, for Queen and Country."

"Of course you do," Matthew said, nodding in agreement. "And I suppose you were afraid that if you didn't make your move here tonight, you might miss your chance, or perhaps you were afraid that you wouldn't be able to catch him unaware otherwise?"

"All speculation," Charles said, smiling smugly. "Now, am I going to have to serve Lord Grantham myself, or are you going to assist me?"

Matthew looked at Alex.

Alex shook his head.

"Of course we'll assist you, Mr. Blake," Matthew said. "Anything for Queen and Country. I have certain conditions, however."

"I'm all ears, Matthew," Charles said, taking the warrant back.

* * *

"A surprise?" Violet exclaimed, frowning at her son from her imperious position on the sofa. "What surprise?"

"We were hoping you would tell us that," Cora said happily, nodding her head.

Violet looked at Rosamund entirely confused.

"Well, I have nothing to say about any surprise," Violet snapped. "Everyone knows what happens at these parties. The only surprises are the colour of the flowers and the menu."

"And both are outstanding, Cora, dear," Rosamund chimed in.

"Very much so," Isobel agreed, nodding kindly.

"Thank you," Cora said, accepting the compliments eagerly.

"Granny," Mary spoke up. "Matthew is preparing the surprise, and it's our task to keep Mama and Papa occupied until such time as it's ready. You'll agree that it would be in poor taste to ruin it in advance?"

"I couldn't say," Violet replied. "I don't particularly care for surprises, myself."

"If Matthew is planning it, then it should be worth waiting for," Isobel said, looking at Mary cautiously.

Mary nodded slightly to Matthew's mother.

Sybil and Edith shared a concerned look.

"Cousin Cora! Cousin Robert!" Rose said as she came through the crowd and reached them.

"Rose," Sybil said, looking at her cousin hopefully.

"The surprises are coming from all directions, apparently," Violet muttered. "Hello, Rose."

"Cousin Violet," Rose said, nodding politely. "I suppose everyone is eagerly anticipating Matthew's surprise?"

"We are!" Cora agreed.

"Most impatiently," Robert said wryly.

"Well, it won't be much longer, I assure you, however, we do need to move again…erm…so that you have the best view of…it," Rose said.

"The best view of what?" Violet demanded.

"Of the surprise, Granny," Mary said.

"At least give us some hint as to what the surprise is about," Rosamund said in frustration. "What is it regarding? Matthew isn't planning to set off fireworks in the ballroom, I should hope."

"That makes two of us," Mary muttered to her sisters.

"No, it's nothing like that," Rose said. "But he so wants it to come off, you know. He wants everyone to be impressed, particularly Cousin Robert and Cousin Cora."

"Oh, we can't dash his hopes before he's had a chance to pull it off," Cora pleaded, looking at Robert.

"No, I suppose we can't," Robert rolled his eyes. "So, where are we to go now?"

"Where?" Rose repeated.

"Yes, where?" Robert asked again. "You said we needed to move?"

Rose swallowed nervously.

"To the stage," Mary declared.

"The stage?" Cora asked. "So the surprise is a performance of some sort?"

"It most certainly will be that," Edith whispered to Sybil.

"Yes, a performance," Mary confirmed. "And you both need to have full view of the stage to see it."

"We could have the staff bring in chairs," Cora suggested to Robert.

"No!" Rose interrupted. "The staff are so busy preparing the dessert table. I'll have it taken care of. Why don't you all move over to the stage and I'll meet you there?"

"Splendid," Mary replied. "Granny?"

"Very well," Granny sighed, rising from the sofa with Isobel's assistance. "Wouldn't want to miss the surprise."

Rose turned away and touched her headset as Mary and her sisters ushered the rest of the family towards the stage where the orchestra continued to play.

* * *

"I don't like this. I don't like this at all," Alex said as he and Matthew headed towards a side door.

"It's not as though I'm thrilled about it either, but I'd rather deal with Mr. Blake and his agents on our terms," Matthew retorted.

"And what will you say to Lord Grantham, even if you pull this off somehow?" Alex asked.

"I'd rather beg for forgiveness than ask permission," Matthew said.

"Lady Mary has clearly rubbed off on you," Alex shook his head.

Matthew smiled ruefully, concentrating on the thoughts flashing at lightspeed in his mind, trying desperately to map out all the possible options and consequences of his plan.

* * *

"We've got Blake's signal," the agent said quietly. "Let's move."

The MI:5 agents walked past the unmanned valet station outside of Grantham House and walked up the steps to the front door. They found the door unlocked and quickly went inside.

"Gentlemen," Charles said, greeting them in the foyer. "I've been assured that our target will be waiting for us in the parlour shortly."

"How did you manage that, sir?" an agent asked.

"We have an ally, it seems. Matthew Crawley has agreed to bring our man right to us," Charles said.

"He did?" another agent questioned.

"He doesn't want a scene, and so in return for my promise to be discrete, he's agreed to set a trap, basically," Charles explained.

"What about all the guests?" another agent asked.

"We leave them alone," Charles said. "If all goes well, they'll be reading about this in the papers soon enough, and we'll have the show of force that we want, all without having to put ourselves in danger."

"That sounds too good to be true," an agent said doubtfully.

"Well, have guns at the ready, this still isn't a fait accompli," Charles ordered. "But if everything goes to plan, we'll have our target soon enough."

* * *

Cyril led the way as he and Richard went through the servants' door and into Grantham House. They passed the kitchen and headed straight for the stairs.

"The men are in position. We have someone inside locating Matthew Crawley and Lord Grantham. Once we have their positions, we move," Cyril said quietly.

"Have everyone hold until I give the word," Richard ordered. "I need to be able to reach Matthew quickly so we'll wait until he nears a door if we have to."

Cyril relayed the instructions as they reached the top of the stairs. He frowned as he listened to his headset.

"Our man says that Lord Grantham is near the stage with his family, but Matthew Crawley is no longer in the ballroom," Cyril said apprehensively.

"Where the hell is he, then?" Richard sneered. "Find him now!"

* * *

"Matthew!" Mary called, coming over to him and Alex. "What the hell is going on?"

"Mary, I don't have much time," Matthew said, leaning towards her. "You were right. Charles Blake is up to something. He brought an arrest warrant. Make sure that your father remains in the ballroom."

"What about you?" she asked with concern.

"I've agreed to help Blake. I need to go to the parlour," he explained. "It's the only way to make sure he doesn't cause a scene and disrupt the party.

"Matthew, we have to go," Alex said, grabbing his arm.

"But, what are you…" Mary protested.

"Just stay in here. You'll be safe," Matthew said, nodding to her bravely. "I won't let anything happen to your family, I promise."

"Matthew," Alex growled.

"Wait, isn't this the moment where you kiss me and tell me everything will be all right before you go running off?" she demanded.

He kissed her soundly just before Alex pulled him away.

"Everything will be all right," he said as he ducked out the door.

Mary sighed anxiously as she watched him go. She slowly turned around, taking a deep breath as she faced the ballroom.

"Matthew and Alex?" Anna asked, coming to her side.

"They're dealing with Mr. Blake and his arrest warrant," Mary said.

"Arrest warrant? What about you?" Anna asked.

Mary narrowed her eyes as she looked across the ballroom. "Go back and stay with Sybil and the others," she said. "I'm going to have a word with someone."

Anna nodded and watched as Mary walked determinedly through the crowd of guests.

* * *

"I had one of the guards put a gun in the top drawer of the writing desk if you need it," Alex said as he and Matthew went down the hall away from the ballroom.

"Let's hope not," Matthew replied. "You?"

"They're bringing me one," Alex confirmed. "Even with silencers, they'll be able to hear any shots in the ballroom."

"Then let's hope there aren't any shots," Matthew said, glancing at Alex.

They reached the parlour and a security guard nodded to them, opening the door for Matthew.

"Go back down the hall and into the library," Alex instructed. "Once the target comes into this area, move out and seal the hall so they can't double back."

"Yes, sir," the guard nodded. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a gun, handing it to Alex grip end first, then departing down the hall.

"Good?" Matthew asked, pausing in the doorway.

Alex checked the clip, loaded it and pulled back the slide. "Good," he said. "Luck?"

"Always," Matthew nodded, then went into the parlour and closed the door behind him.

Alex turned on the safety on the gun and stowed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He turned to face the hallway and waited.

* * *

"We have him," Cyril said. "Our man lost him for a moment, but picked him up again."

"How did he lose him, for God's sake? He had one job!" Richard growled.

"He had to help carry some glasses out of the ballroom and bring some chairs in from another room, apparently," Cyril said, at a loss to explain.

"Well where is Matthew now?" Richard asked impatiently.

"He's in the parlour," Cyril said.

"The parlour," Richard repeated, as though he was almost tasting the word. "Right. Let's go and parley with Mr. Crawley, then."

"We're moving," Cyril said into his headset. "Prepare to secure the parlour."

* * *

"Mary," Mabel said sweetly as Mary approached them.

"Mabel," Mary replied, giving her a patented polite smile. "How are you finding our little soirée?"

"Fabulous, of course," Mabel replied, glancing at Tony. "The mini grilled cheese sandwiches with pancetta are delicious."

"Mama will be pleased to hear it," Mary said. "Might I borrow your husband for a moment? I just need to discuss something with him."

"Of course," Mabel said. "I needed to go and speak with Lady Cunard in any event."

"I'll bring him back in one piece, I promise," Mary said, arching her eyebrow and chuckling coquettishly.

Mabel and Tony laughed along with her. Mabel touched Tony's arm before walking away.

"This way, Tony," Mary beckoned, leading him away to a quieter spot.

"Right behind you," he said, smirking at the sway of her hips, daring to glance at her ass covered in red silk as he followed her. The dress was far too tight for her to be wearing normal underwear, he thought, and his smirk became a grin as he thought of the possibilities.

* * *

Cyril and Richard came out of the stairwell and walked deliberately down the hall, following the precise directions of the spotter who had seen Matthew go into the parlour. There was no need to set the Albanians loose just yet. If Richard could get to Matthew in this secluded room, then his plans could proceed in a much cleaner fashion.

They moved briskly, seeing no one on their way over. The music and buzz of conversation and laughter came from the ballroom just another hallway over from them. With luck, they would be in and out without anyone in there, including the Crawley family, having realized a thing.

Turning a corner, Cyril stopped and held out his arm to prevent Sir Richard from proceeding further. Facing them and standing guard before the door of the parlour was a tall man with black hair and hazel eyes, wearing a custom tailored suit, his arms crossed in front of him. By the look on his face, he not only recognized them, but seemed to be expecting them somehow.

"Mr. Hightower, Sir Richard," Alex said crisply. "You're looking for Matthew, I expect?"

"We are," Richard answered. "Get out of the way."

"Certainly, Sir Richard," Alex nodded politely. "You may enter. Alone."

"I hardly think you're in a position to set conditions on me," Richard huffed.

"I'm not, am I?" Alex replied casually, lowering one hand to his side and tucking the other into the inside of his suit jacket. "We all know we aren't alone here, don't we? There seems to be a rather inordinate number of waiters and valets hanging around outside the study just around the coner from here. Perhaps you already knew that. But, did you know there's actually a fairly large number of staff waiting behind you?"

Richard frowned.

Cyril glanced back, then looked over at Richard meaningfully.

"You may enter. Alone," Alex repeated. "Mr. Hightower and I will stay out here and ensure that everyone remains at an amicable distance from each other."

Richard clenched his teeth behind his closed lips, then turned to Cyril.

"If he does anything you don't like, kill him," Richard commanded, deliberately loud enough for Alex to hear.

Alex stepped aside and gave Richard a wide grin as he allowed the older man to walk past him and go into the parlour. Alex closed the door after he went through, then turned back to Cyril.

"Care to have a seat, Mr. Hightower?" Alex said, gesturing to an antique chair placed along one wall. "This may take a while longer than you originally planned."

Cyril looked at Alex carefully, then walked over and took a seat. "And you?" he asked, gesturing to another seat across the hall.

"Thank you. I prefer to stand," Alex replied, taking his empty hand out of his jacket.

* * *

She led him away from the guests, away from the dance floor, into a small nook along one wall next to the windows, shielded by the drapes on one side and a large floral arrangement on the other. She would have gone outside the ballroom to talk to him, but she needed to keep an eye on Mama and Papa who were sitting patiently up by the stage over to her left, and Matthew had said it would be safer for her in the ballroom.

Tony Foyle, Lord Gillingham, was about to learn that there was no safe haven for him.

"How dare you bring Charles Blake into my family home, with an arrest warrant no less!" Mary snarled, glaring at Tony furiously. "That's what you were trying to warn me about, wasn't it? You knew he was plotting all this time! My God, what were you thinking, Tony?"

"Mary, it's all right," Tony began.

"All right? You can say that to me with a straight face? You're unbelievable!" she berated him. "After all that our families have been through together, this is how you honour that bond?"

"Mary, you don't understand, my father was in dire straits," Tony whinged. "The government was going to take everything to pay all the taxes that we owed. I tried to negotiate with them, even proposed various payment plans, nothing worked. It wasn't until Mabel was able to convince Charles to intercede that we were able to save ourselves."

"And Mr. Blake demanded your cooperation in return," she said in disgust. "And so you snitched, didn't you? He turned you!"

"He needed something, something tangible to agree to reduce the government's claims," he said. "But Mary, darling, I never gave him you. I would never do anything to hurt you."

He reached a hand towards her.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, slapping his hand away, the drapes and the flowers stopping any of the other guests from noticing their argument. "Don't call me 'darling', don't kiss me, don't even think of me in any manner other than as a family acquaintance! Did you think I would be impressed? Did you think I would find your gesture noble and chivalrous? Were you hoping I would be so overcome with gratitude that you spared me from the cull of Charles Blake that I would finally agree to be your mistress after all these years? You're pathetic!"

"Mary, please," he begged.

"No!" she glared at him. "How could you possibly think you wouldn't hurt me in doing this? An arrest warrant, Tony! An arrest warrant brought into my family's home! Of course this hurts me! Do you think that I want to see Papa humiliated in front of all of Society?"

"I couldn't help that, Mary. I tried, you must believe that," he implored her. "As the owner of the home, your father had to be served with the warrant. There's no getting around it. Charles promised to be discrete."

"Only because Matthew intercepted him before he could cause a scene!" she retorted. "You don't care about appearances, Tony! You would have been fine with Charles Blake throwing Papa in handcuffs and leading him away like a common criminal if it meant I would swoon into your arms. You'd sell out anyone to appear the hero."

"It was never going to come to that, Mary," he said. "Charles would have shown the warrant to Lord Grantham, then went about his business."

"Oh, how kind of him!" she said with false cheer. "Go about the business of arresting my father in his own home with hundreds of witnesses!"

"No, of course not," he scoffed. "Your father was never in any danger. I would never have permitted that to happen."

"You would never have permitted that to happen," she repeated incredulously. "Listen to you! Do you hear what you're saying? If you have such power over Mr. Blake, then why did you not lift a finger the entire evening? He tried to serve Papa. Matthew stopped him. Do you see the difference? I've seen the way you look at him, at us. You find it so difficult to believe that I would want to be with Matthew. You think that I'm just with him for convenience or for my image and that I would be open to considering something on the side for my pleasure, and you couldn't be more wrong. This isn't an act. Matthew can have me anytime, anywhere, in any way he wants. He has the courage of his convictions. He isn't all talk."

He cringed at her harsh language.

She kept on him mercilessly. "You had better pray that whatever Matthew is doing, he's successful, Tony. If Papa is arrested tonight, I'll have you banned from all of our casinos and all ties between our families will be severed. You wish to seduce me? After tonight I'll gouge your eyes out myself if I even suspect you're even thinking about me."

"For God's sake, Mary, Lord Grantham isn't being arrested! Why would he be?" he asked, raising his hands in confusion.

"What are you saying? Charles Blake brought an arrest warrant with him that he doesn't actually intend to use?" she shot back, beyond annoyed at how obtuse he was being.

"No, of course not, but the arrest warrant isn't for your father," he said plainly.

She blinked.

"It's for Sir Richard Carlisle," he stated.

Her eyes went wide and she turned and looked at the door on the far side of the ballroom where she had just kissed Matthew goodbye minutes before.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Matthew."

* * *

"Matthew Crawley, at last," Richard smiled. Linking his hands behind his back, he walked into the centre of the room, his eyes watching Matthew, who stood at one end, leaning back against an ornate Louis XIV writing desk.

"Sir Richard," Matthew replied easily. "May I offer you a drink? Scotch, perhaps?"

"No thank you," Richard replied. "I know it's rude of me, but I usually have a drink afterwards, not before."

"Very well," Matthew nodded. "That's a rather nice suit. I didn't see your name on the guest list for this evening. In fact, I seem to recall it was removed just yesterday."

"Your doing, I presume," Richard nodded, stopping a few metres away from him. "But you still expected that I would make an appearance, didn't you?"

"I had an inkling, yes," Matthew said. "If I've learned anything in the brief time that I've known you, Sir Richard, is that sometimes you just can't help yourself."

Richard chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment. You're right, when it comes to some things, I do enjoy indulging. Fine food, fine clothes, fine women, for example."

"And power, let's not leave that one out," Matthew smiled. "You can't resist seeking more of it, or reminding others from time to time who wields it."

"Is that what Mary told you?" Richard asked lightly. "She would know. I quite enjoyed having power over her. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and repeatedly."

"And yet at the crucial moment, your power was not enough to sway her, nor to guide her hand," Matthew said, unperturbed by his innuendo. "That must have been a cruel blow."

"Not particularly," Richard shrugged. "She had outgrown her usefulness. I was bored of her by that point. I expected that she would fail. She's the type. The precisely cultivated image, the aura of talent and skill. But in the end, she doesn't have what it takes to make it in this world, not on her own anyway."

"Ah, yes, she's lacking in that intangible quality that you believe you have in abundance?" Matthew laughed. "And of course, you're a brilliant judge of character."

Richard's smug smile faltered for a second.

"I suppose you're wondering why I invited you in here," Matthew continued.

"It did surprise me at first. I thought you would be in the ballroom hiding behind Lord Grantham, or you would have turned tail and ran off in that fancy sports car of yours. But now that I think about it, it does make perfect sense," Richard said.

"Do tell," Matthew said.

"You either didn't have enough time to take the coward's way out, or you've accepted your fate and are here voluntarily," Richard said. "Meeting me here, away from the ballroom, will hopefully spare Mary and her family from the scandal that might ensue if we were to meet in front of hundreds of guests. You're choosing to be a martyr."

"That's partially correct," Matthew nodded. "Do I have your word that you won't cause a scene once we're done here?"

"That depends on whether we resolve the matters between us," Richard said guardedly. "I promise you I don't intend to see anyone else before I go, and I expect to leave unnoticed."

"That's good enough for me," Matthew smiled. "Indulge me for a moment first, before we get on with things, won't you?"

"Of course," Richard said, waving his hand for Matthew to proceed. "I usually honour a dying man's last wish."

"It has puzzled me why you feel my existence is such an affront to you," Matthew said, ignoring Richard's threat. "We haven't had any dealings in the past, and any rivalry between you and the Crawleys doesn't concern me. I'm not part of their family. To you, I'm just an employee, so why would you go to such lengths to have me eliminated?"

"A valid question," Richard said. "I would not normally engage in such a conversation with a man in your position."

"Yes, it is a bit melodramatic to hash out the ins and outs of one's plans, I agree," Matthew said. "But we both know you aren't going to do anything with Alex and my men outside, so we can get through our little chat, and you can then tell me why exactly I'll be leaving here with you to accept my fate, as you put it."

Richard smiled and nodded.

"If it pleases you, I freely admit that I'm still rather confused by it all," Matthew said. "I have a theory, of course, but I haven't found sufficient evidence to prove all of it, which is quite maddening actually."

"It does please me to know that I caused you some consternation, yes," Richard laughed.

"Well, I needed a great deal of help to piece parts of my theory together, but if I accept as fact that you had Patrick killed, then it becomes much clearer," Matthew said.

"And you expect me to admit to that, do you?" Richard asked.

"No, I'm just going to assume that you did," Matthew replied. "You had Patrick killed, and ensured there was enough separation between you and his murder that no one would suspect you of it, thereby maintaining your uneasy, but gentlemanly relationship with Lord Grantham and allowing you to carry on with your business."

Richard remained silent, watching Matthew carefully.

"It would have worked too," Matthew said. "No one would have ever imagined that you had anything to do with it, certainly not me. None of us even thought Patrick died of any other cause besides an accidental drug overdose at first, but you made a few mistakes, due to your insecurity and anxiousness, and your need to control everything about a situation. And in those mistakes, my theory was born."

"This is more dramatic than a horrible American television show," Richard snorted contentedly.

"You knew there was a problem when our assistants showed up at Egg London to question Alexander Green," Matthew said. "So you had him killed shortly afterwards, to close off that loose end. But now there was an investigation going on, and rather than let it run its course and the trail going cold, you needed to find out what was going on. You had the Albanians follow Mary's sisters and our assistants. You tried to blackmail Mary into killing me. You sabotaged her deal with the Abu Dhabi investors. You brought Mr. Hightower into the casino to rattle us and probe a little bit. You had my mother put under surveillance in Singapore, and you used a sham of a joint venture agreement with Crawley Group to try and get your hooks into us, all done with an obsession for control, for power, to gain an advantage on all of us."

Richard didn't flinch as each allegation was thrown at him.

"But why?" Matthew asked. "Why go to such lengths, unless there was something, somewhere, some horrible secret of yours that you wanted to guard? Yes, we – or perhaps you think I – have caused you to lose profits since the last quarter of last year, but a man of your confidence and ambition wouldn't be put off by that for very long. No, it had to go beyond business, which brought me back to Patrick, and the reason why you had him killed."

Richard raised his chin slightly as he kept looking at Matthew.

* * *

"Rose, I need to get to Matthew," Mary said quickly, keeping her voice down as she glanced past her cousin to her parents sharing a laugh with Granny, Aunt Rosamund and Isobel. "And I need a gun."

"Mary, calm down," Rose said quietly. "He's got everything under control."

"Under control!" Mary said tightly. "How can you say that? He's meeting with Sir Richard, isn't he? He's confronting him? He's in danger, Rose! I must go to him!"

"Mary, you can't," Rose said slowly and deliberately, taking hold of her cousin's hands. "This plan only works if we all play our roles and remain focused. The moment that any of us deviate from the plan, and God forbid, you go and distract Matthew, and it all falls apart and we fail, do you understand?"

"I can't let him do this!" Mary said desperately, blinking stubbornly to beat back her tears. "I can't let him face him alone! I belong with him. Whatever happens to him, I belong at his side."

"Mary, he knows," Rose said patiently. "He knows you want to be there. He knows that you want to go to him. That's why he instructed us to make sure you stayed here. You have to trust him. He needs you to trust him."

Mary looked at the ground and grunted in frustration.

"I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to him, Rose," she whispered. "I'm only half myself without him, and I won't lose him. Not now."

"I know how you feel, believe me," Rose said. "So does Alex. Matthew's never slipped up in the time I've worked for him, not once. You've got to just believe, the same way he believes in you to keep your family safe in here."

"Mary," Sybil said, looking on with concern as she came up to her sister and cousin. "Can you come? Edith and I are about out of ideas on how to keep them distracted."

"Of course," Mary said, swallowing hard and smiling bravely at her youngest sister. She looked at Rose once again, then let go of her cousin's hands and walked over to her parents, a pleasant smile on her face.

* * *

"Three minutes," Charles said, checking his watch. "Everyone stay under control. We don't want to tip him off before we're on top of him."

"What about getting him out?" an agent asked. "He wouldn't have come here alone."

"Hopefully no one will want to try anything when they see us escorting him," Charles said. "Follow procedure and all should be well."

"What do you suppose Mr. Crawley is talking to him about in there?" the agent asked.

"I don't care," Charles said. "I gave him a window to get him to the parlour and keep him there. Now that we control the hall leading to the foyer, I'm going in at the agreed upon time."

* * *

"Mary didn't think that Patrick had any dealings with you before," Matthew told Richard. "She thought you may have known who the other was, but that was it. She was probably right. You knew he was a customer of Mr. Green's. You knew he frequented Egg London from time to time, but that was it. He was barely a name on your contacts list until the week of his death."

"What changed then?" Richard asked. "Besides him dying, of course."

"He approached you," Matthew said. "Either at your office or some other meeting place. He contacted you secretly. There was no record of it in his calendar or his call logs. But he did approach you, with a bit of a news tip, as it were."

"And what breaking story would this have been?" Richard asked. "Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't worth my time, since his death barely made our Obituaries section."

"Oh, but it was never Patrick's intention that you would print the story. It was more important to him that you knew about it. The tale of how certain aristocrats invested in oil futures contracts in the months leading up to the July 7, 2005 London bombings," Matthew said.

"And why would I not print that, if indeed Patrick did tip me off to it?" Richard laughed. "That sort of scandal would send internet hits through the roof."

"I agree, which is why I struggled with your motive for quite some time," Matthew admitted. "But then I remembered something Mary told me a while ago, actually. She said that here in London, everything is about the money. So I asked myself, who, in addition to investors with insider information, would stand to profit most from a terrorist attack?"

Richard frowned.

"The media," Matthew declared. "All those eyeballs watching news programs. All those hits on internet websites. All the people buying newspapers, desperate to find out what was going on, devouring every new tidbit of information, every theory, every lead. After July 7, the media was in overdrive for months. I suspect that Carlisle World Media Group did very well in the final quarter of 2005."

"That's a rather fanciful theory you have there," Richard said.

"I'm sure you've heard it before. It's not particularly novel, especially if Patrick came to the same conclusion," Matthew nodded. "He knew that Robert wouldn't have the investment expertise to short oil futures contracts in July 2005, especially with all trends pointing to the price only going up. Someone would have had to have tipped him off, probably another Earl or Viscount or peer of his. Trace it back far enough, and I'm willing to bet that the individuals who profited from the bombings were all well acquainted with you."

"So I am guilty by mere association, am I?" Richard asked.

"In a court of law, no," Matthew shook his head. "But Patrick wasn't threatening to report you to the authorities, was he? He told you that he wanted millions of pounds or else he was going to turn over his information to one of your rivals – Mr. Maran or Mr. Murdoch, perhaps – and that was simply unacceptable to you. Even if nothing could ever be proven conclusively, your name would be synonymous with scandal, and you couldn't stand for that. No one makes a fool of Sir Richard Carlisle, and no one certainly profits in the attempt."

"You're very much like Patrick, you know," Richard said. "The same ego, the same arrogance. You're smarter, more polished, but no less foolish than he was."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Matthew smiled. "That was the one of the last pieces of the puzzle, actually. You could have paid Patrick off, or threatened him, intimidated him. He wasn't the most brave of men. He would have cowered eventually. But there was something about him that angered you, that made you so incensed that you wanted to stomp him, rub him out completely. It's the same thing that you see in me, in a way. We don't care about this world of yours as much as you do, or even as much as Robert does. And that infuriates you, that we have such privileged positions, and are happy to throw them away on a whim. It makes all the blood in a purportedly self-made man just boil, doesn't it?"

Richard's lip curled into a brief snarl before he composed himself.

"She'll never be yours, you know, not truly," Richard stated. "She might think she is. She might marry you, even have your children, but eventually she'll grow bored of you, run off and have an affair or something. A woman like Lady Mary isn't meant to end up with someone like you, and I think you know that."

Matthew pursed his lips slightly and narrowed his eyes. After a moment, he stood up straighter and straightened his cuff links.

"Then I suppose we both have our burdens, don't we?" he said.

"What's mine?" Richard laughed. "You aren't going to do anything with this information, this theory of yours. You won't risk getting into a war with me. The Crawleys come from a long line of aristocrats. They aren't fighters. You want them all to live happy long lives without having to look over their shoulders every minute. Raise your hand against me and all of that is put in jeopardy."

"No, I'm not going to do anything with the information. I just wanted to know who Patrick's murderer was and now I do. That's enough closure for me, and for Mary and her family," Matthew said.

"Good," Richard said. "Now that we're finished with that, you can understand that your word is not nearly enough to assure me that this information will remain buried – regardless of how baseless the allegations are. So, I'll ask you to come with me and we'll make sure no one ever learns of what you discovered. I know you haven't told anyone. You wouldn't want Mary or anyone else to be put in danger by having such knowledge."

"Very true," Matthew said. "No one else knows, just me. But I could have told you all of this over the telephone if I wanted to. Bringing you here specifically was for another reason."

Richard frowned suspiciously.

The door behind him opened.

Richard turned around.

"Sir Richard Carlisle, Charles Blake, HMRC," Charles declared as he came in the room, three agents trailing behind him. "I have a warrant here requiring that you come with us to Thames House. We have some questions for you."

Richard blinked in shock. He looked past Charles and the agents and saw Cyril out in the hallway, two agents standing on either side of him.

"I don't know Mr. Blake very well at all, but apparently he wants to speak with you, Sir Richard," Matthew explained, drawing Richard's attention back to him. "I trust you will keep your word to me that you'll leave unnoticed?"

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?" Mary said into the microphone as the orchestra stopped playing. She looked out from the stage to all of the guests who were now staring back at her.

"On behalf of Lord and Lady Grantham, and all of the Crawley family, we would like to give our sincere thanks to all of you for being here with us tonight and enjoying what has been the most wonderful party in recent memory," she continued.

The guests all applauded in response.

"Before we get back to the food and drink and dancing, I'd like to take a moment and thank my parents, my Mama in particular for organizing such a lovely party, and my Papa for paying for all of it," she said.

Laughter and applause rang out across the ballroom.

Robert and Cora both smiled at each other and nodded to their guests.

"We also have a bit of a surprise this evening for my parents – two actually. The first is that as a token of our love and appreciation for them, my sisters Edith, Sybil and I are sending them on a cruise around the world for six months," she announced.

Cora gasped in delight and grinned at Robert happily.

Robert blinked in surprise and nodded along with his wife.

The guests all clapped politely.

"For the second surprise, I'd like to call the Managing Director of Crawley Group, Matthew Crawley to the stage. Matthew," she called, glancing out into the crowd.

Matthew made his way up to the stage and took a microphone from the orchestra conductor. He nodded to the assembled guests as the light applause died down. Taking Mary's hand, he smiled at her before speaking.

"Thank you. I won't take up too much of your time, but in acknowledgment of Robert Crawley's lengthy and distinguished term as President of Crawley Group, the company is pleased to commission a portrait of Lord Grantham, to be added to the walls of honour in the offices of each of our properties, as well as an original painting to be hung at the family home at Downton Abbey in Yorkshire. We have a rendering for all of you to see just on the screen here, and I'd also like to propose a toast," Matthew said.

A projection screen unwound on the wall next to the stage. Alex pressed several buttons on his phone and an image of Robert, striking a distinguished pose came on the screen, surrounded by an antique picture frame similar to the portraits of the previous Earls of Grantham hanging at Downton Abbey.

The guests murmured at the sight of it, then applauded heartily.

Cora and the girls all smiled at Robert.

Robert looked up at his portrait in awe, a smile finally coming to his lips.

"A toast to Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, beloved son, husband and father," Matthew said.

The guests all raised their glasses in reply and called Robert's name. He lifted his freshly provided champagne flute to everyone else and clinked glasses with Cora before taking a sip.

Mary squeezed Matthew's hand and grinned at him.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," she said into her microphone. "And now, on with the party!"

* * *

Mary swayed in Matthew's arms, smiling at him as they danced. Alex and Anna were over to their right, Edith and Bertie were somewhere behind them and Sybil was dancing with a man they didn't know somewhere beyond that. None of it mattered as he looked back at her fondly.

"All's well that ends well, then?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I wouldn't go that far," he chuckled. "Sir Richard will appeal whatever ruling HMRC throws at him, it'll get tied up in the courts and in the end he'll pay a rather tidy sum and be given a clean slate. I doubt he'll end up in jail. This won't ruin him."

"It will teach him to leave us alone," she replied. "The Albanians all scurried off when the MI:5 agents appeared. I doubt we'll hear from them again. They have no complaint against us, they were just hired guns. And Sir Richard wouldn't dare implicate us to the government. He would seal his own fate in trying to ruin us, and he won't do that."

"I hope that you're right," he said, kissing her lightly.

"I always am, you know," she said haughtily.

"You think so, do you?" he asked, laughing as they turned.

"I do," she said confidently. "For example, I'm willing to guess that right about now, you're thinking about whisking me away from here and celebrating tonight's victory by fucking me senseless."

"Erm," he stammered, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Don't worry, darling," she said reassuringly. "I'm in the mood for it tonight."

"Truly?" he whispered, an adorable look of hope filling his face.

"Truly," she laughed. "And I think staying here tonight is out of the question."

A shiver ran down his spine as she turned her head to whisper in his ear.

"I intend to be very loud for you tonight, darling, and the walls of your suite are much thicker," she said, before resuming her pleasantly innocent expression.

He flexed his fingers across her back.

"However, we'll need to get Taylor to drive us back to your hotel, or take a cab," she said.

"Why?" he asked, frowning in confusion. "We can take my car."

"Darling, if you recall, the Albanians were working as valets tonight," she told him patiently. "I had Rose send some men out to examine your car and they discovered that your brakes had been tampered with. It'll be repaired and good as new tomorrow, but you're not driving anywhere tonight."

He blinked in shock. "Carlisle," he muttered. "That was his insurance policy."

"It seems so," she said. "Luckily, we caught it."

"Luckily you caught it," he corrected her.

"Me, you, we, it's all the same, isn't it?" she asked lightly.

"Indeed," he agreed, grinning at her as they danced. "Together, we are very lucky."


	32. Chapter 32

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2015**

Mary swayed in Matthew's arms, smiling at him as they danced. Alex and Anna were over to their right, Edith and Bertie were somewhere behind them and Sybil was dancing with a man they didn't know somewhere beyond that. None of it mattered as he looked back at her fondly.

"All's well that ends well, then?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I wouldn't go that far," he chuckled. "Sir Richard will appeal whatever ruling HMRC throws at him, it'll get tied up in the courts and in the end he'll pay a rather tidy sum and be given a clean slate. I doubt he'll end up in jail. This won't ruin him."

"It will teach him to leave us alone," she replied. "The Albanians all scurried off when the MI:5 agents appeared, and Sir Richard wouldn't dare implicate us to the government. He would seal his own fate in trying to ruin us, and he won't do that."

"I hope you're right," he said, kissing her lightly.

"I always am, you know," she said haughtily.

"You think so, do you?" he asked, laughing as they turned.

"I do," she said confidently. "For example, I'm willing to guess that right about now, you're thinking about whisking me away from here and celebrating tonight's victory by fucking me senseless."

"Erm," he stammered, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Don't worry, darling," she said reassuringly. "I'm in the mood for it tonight."

"Truly?" he whispered, an adorable look of hope filling his face.

"Truly," she laughed. "And I think staying here tonight is out of the question."

A shiver ran down his spine as she turned her head to whisper in his ear.

"I intend to be very loud for you tonight, darling," she said, before resuming her pleasantly innocent expression.

He flexed his fingers across her back.

"However, we'll need to get Taylor to drive us back to your hotel, or take a cab," she said.

"Why?" he asked, frowning in confusion. "We can take my car."

"Darling, if you recall, the Albanians were working as valets tonight," she told him patiently. "I had Rose send some men out to examine your car and they discovered that your brakes had been tampered with. I sent it in for repairs. You're not driving anywhere tonight."

He blinked in shock. "Carlisle," he muttered. "That was his insurance policy."

"It seems so," she said. "Luckily, we caught it."

"Luckily you caught it," he corrected her.

"Me, you, we, it's all the same, isn't it?" she asked lightly.

"Indeed," he agreed, grinning at her as they danced. "Together, we are very lucky."

 **Chapter 32:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 2015**

"Don't go trying to change everything all at once now," Robert said, gesturing with his hands in a stopping motion. "You need time to get used to everything, understand the way things are done before you try and put your own stamp on the operation."

"Yes, Papa," Mary said dutifully, walking with him down the hall to the foyer. Sybil and Edith trailed behind with their Mama, Matthew keeping his distance at the back.

"I still think you should arrange for a guide," Sybil said. "Some of the places you're going to aren't as straightforward as you think, especially when you venture out of the cities."

"We'll be fine," Cora said, patting her daughter's shoulder. "It will be an adventure. We haven't had time alone just the two of us like this in, well, a very long time."

"Just be careful," Edith advised. "The hotels we've booked you in can all have a guide assigned to you. All you need do is ask the concierge and it will be taken care of."

"Thank you, dear," Cora replied as they came into the foyer.

"Your luggage is enroute to Heathrow, my Lord," Carson announced, standing at attention by the door.

"Excellent," Robert said, nodding to the butler. "You'll watch over them for us, won't you, Carson?"

"I will, sir, no need to worry," Carson answered crisply.

"Carson will be going back to Downton next month," Mary said pointedly, smiling at the butler. "He's going to help me with the transition, but then he is going to take some much needed time for himself."

"Yes, I suppose that would only be fair," Robert said, smiling at the butler knowingly.

Carson harrumphed at that, but remained stoic and silent.

"Well, let's get going, then," Robert announced, turning and facing his family. "We're early and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Goodbye, Mama," Mary said, hugging her mother. "Do try and enjoy yourselves, won't you?"

"We'll have a fabulous time, darling, thank you," Cora said, grinning as she released her eldest daughter. "I feel as though we're going on honeymoon again!"

"Well, don't come back pregnant," Edith warned. "It would be a killer trying to track down our old nanny, if she's even still alive."

"Edith! That's horrible!" Sybil exclaimed as her parents both looked away and even blushed a bit.

"I agree," Edith replied unfazed. "Chasing an infant around Downton would be exhausting."

"Don't pay attention to her, we usually don't," Mary said, rolling her eyes as she stepped over to her Papa. "Bon voyage, Papa. Please try not to check in on us every hour. Once or twice a day should do."

"Your Mama has already threatened to confiscate my phone," Robert grumbled, hugging Mary awkwardly, then moving on to Sybil and Edith. "All of you please behave."

"Of course we will," Sybil scoffed. "Besides, we have Matthew to watch over us, as always."

Robert looked over at Matthew standing off to one side. The two men shared a look, each of them cautiously watching the other.

"Yes, well, he's been a diligent overseer thus far," Robert commented.

"Goodbye Matthew," Cora said more warmly, extending her hands for him to take in his. "Do take care of Mary. I don't want her working too hard in her new position."

"I will," Matthew said politely, nodding to her and Robert. "Have a good trip."

He released Cora's hands and, as everyone was standing around and not moving, he swallowed and reached out his hand to Robert. The Earl seemed to pause and stare at the gesture for a few seconds before finally shaking Matthew's hand.

"Safe travels, Robert," Matthew said.

"Best wishes, Matthew," Robert said evenly, meeting the man's gaze.

Carson cleared his throat and opened the front door.

Robert let go of Matthew's hand and turned, putting his arm around his wife's shoulders. The children all waved as the Earl and Countess of Grantham walked down the steps and disappeared into the back of the Bentley. Taylor closed the door for them, then got into the driver's side and soon the sleek saloon car was off and down the road.

"I never thought we would convince them to actually go on the trip," Sybil said, shaking her head as they all turned and went back inside the house.

"If Papa had his way, they wouldn't have," Edith shrugged. "He'd surely rather stay here and watch Mary's every move in her first weeks as President. Thankfully, Mama insisted otherwise."

"Well? That didn't go so badly, did it?" Mary asked, smiling at Matthew as they left Sybil and Edith and turned towards the library.

"No, not at all," Matthew replied, taking her hand.

"They'll come around eventually," she said encouragingly. "By the time they're back from their jaunt around the world, you'll be their favourite son once more."

"I don't care about that," he groaned, shaking his head. "I just don't want my presence to be something awkward for you. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in your own home."

"Well, you needn't worry about that," she said playfully, turning around and putting her arms over his shoulders. "Papa and Mama may need time to warm to you again, but I don't."

"Is that so?" he asked mischievously, his hands sliding over her hips and coming around to settle just above her bottom. "I'm feeling a bit warm myself, actually."

"Now that was quite a smooth line," she said, grinning and arching her eyebrow at him. "Does that work on all the pretty girls?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?" he joked, leaning in and kissing her soundly.

* * *

"Don't be so concerned, darling," Cora said as the Bentley eased off the motorway and headed towards the private terminal at Heathrow airport. "Mary has been preparing for this her entire life. She'll do you proud, just you watch."

"I know," Robert sighed, looking away from the window and patting his wife's knee. "I know."

"I hope you aren't going to be in a mood for too long," she said pointedly. "I don't want to spend the next six months dragging you around."

"You won't, my darling," he said confidently. "There is no one I would rather go exploring with than you."

"Mmm," she hummed happily, grinning at him as she leaned in closer. "Do you remember the first time we flew on the private jet?"

"Yes," he managed, swallowing nervously.

"Do you remember what we did to christen it?" she teased, whispering in his ear.

"Y…yes…" he stammered.

"Would you like to do that to me again to kick off this trip?" she asked lightly.

He blushed fiercely, glancing ahead to make sure Taylor had his eyes on the road.

"Y…yes…" he growled, finally looking at his wife and matching her challenging look.

"Good," she said, smiling mysteriously as she leaned away from him and looked out the window, entirely calm and composed.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, September 2015**

"For the most part, it will be business as usual; your roles won't change and neither will the way we've been carrying on here since I started," Mary said, looking around the casino floor at the attentive faces of the gathered employees. "At the same time, it is a new era, as strange as that may sound. I'm not going to try and replace my father. He is still a large part of this company. What I will do is lead Crawley Group into the future, a very exciting future, and I hope all of you will come along with us for the journey. Thank you, and as you were."

The employees all applauded and there were even a few cheers as Mary smiled, nodded, and stepped away from the microphone, walking back towards the elevator with Anna falling quickly in step with her.

"8:07 a.m., Lady Mary Crawley assumes the Presidency of Crawley Group officially," Alex said, glancing at his mobile. "So far, the place is still standing."

"You've become rather smug in your position to be brave enough to mock Mary behind her back," Matthew noted, smiling at his friend. "Or, perhaps, judging by the fact that you're whispering, you're not nearly as confident as you pretend."

Alex looked over at him, then the two of them shared a knowing laugh.

"What about you?" Alex asked. "How's life with the new President?"

"Mary's change in title and position is a professional matter, not a personal one," Matthew replied as they left the casino floor. "We're still the same as before. Our relationship isn't affected by it."

"Now that sounded almost believable," Alex said, nodding thoughtfully. "How many times have you practised that? Or, have you been repeating it over and over to convince yourself?"

"Mary's going to be very busy over the next while, that's understandable," Matthew said. "A transition of this magnitude isn't done easily. But if you're asking if the fact that she's now President of Crawley Group changes who she is when she comes home from work, of course it doesn't. She's still Mary."

"Of course she is," Alex agreed as they waited for the lift to come back down. "I'm sure she leaves everything behind once she gets back to your hotel, the same Lady Mary who once told you that here in London, we're on the clock at all hours."

Matthew sighed and looked up at the elevator display, willing the lift to arrive as quickly as possible.

* * *

Anna walked briskly across the hall and slipped into Alex's office, closing the door behind her. He looked up from his computer monitors and smiled at the playful expression on her face as she circled around his desk.

"Hello you," he said, kissing her lightly as she stepped between his legs and leaned over him. "Am I to assume this is a personal visit, rather than a professional one?"

"Very personal, Mr. Lewis," she answered, sliding her hands around his neck and kissing him again. "Didn't you see the appointment I put in your calendar?"

"Mmm, yes. 11:00 – morning snog with the Missus. How could I forget?" he said, moving his hands to her hips and kissing her back.

"Is that what you call me to your friends? 'The Missus?'" she asked, smiling against his lips.

"Sometimes. What you would prefer that I call you? My 'girl' or my 'woman'?" he asked, smiling up at her as she released him and stood back up.

"No, I quite like 'the Missus', actually," she said, smiling as she stepped away from him. "What did you think about the itinerary I sent over?"

"I loved it," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Everything looks wonderful."

"Well, that's rather boring," she replied. "I was thinking I would need to have a fight with you over some of the sights that I put in there."

"It's our first proper trip together, and I'm taking you to France. I can't imagine there's anything you would want to see that I would truly object to, except for the sewers in Paris – they're not nearly as romantic as Hugo made them seem, I assure you," he said.

"Really?" she laughed. "You know what I think? I think you're deliberately being aggregable, thinking that it will pay off for you when we're on our trip. You think I'll be more willing to go along with what you want to do when we're over there since you're putting up with my museum visits and shopping days."

"Possibly," he admitted, smiling at her playfully. "Is it working?"

"The odds certainly appear to be in your favour so far," she said, smirking at him teasingly.

"Brilliant," he said happily. "Now, don't you need to run along? I thought that Lady Mary would be inundated with her new duties today."

"She is," she sighed. "Mr. Carson is with her now, and most likely will be for the rest of the afternoon. They're going over some of the larger company matters, so she's left it to me to deal with the regular casino operations for the rest of the day. I wish there was something I could do to lighten things up for her, but it's not really the type of job where you can delegate tasks on your first official day."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," he said reassuringly. "And besides, I expect she's loving every frenetic second of it. She's finally in the role she was born to have."

"I honestly can't believe it," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "After so many years, I always expected something to stand in her way – first Lord Grantham's stubborn loyalty to the past, then Mr. Patrick, and Mr. Crawley arriving after him. It feels like a dream to see her as President at last."

"It most certainly does," he agreed. "Who would have ever thought that Matthew, the man obsessed only with money, would actually recognize Lady Mary's talent and support her cause?"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" she asked, looking at him pointedly. "You love having that over me."

"I simply enjoy pointing out how far both Matthew and I have come from the rather low opinions that you and Lady Mary had of us a year ago when we arrived from Manchester, is all," he said lightly.

"Yes, I'll admit yet again that Mr. Crawley has been a very pleasant surprise considering what we expected of him in the beginning," she said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

"And what about me?" he asked, grinning at her.

"You have been a pain in the arse, for the most part," she retorted. "But I suppose every so often you've shocked me quite delightfully as well."

"I'll take that," he laughed. He reached out and gently tugged at her hands, pulling her on to his lap. She laughed and arranged herself more comfortably, linking the fingers of her one hand with his.

"Now, let me show you the suite that I booked for us in Paris," he said, grabbing his mouse and looking over at his computer monitors.

Anna watched the screens with rapt attention, resting her head against his.

* * *

"And Papa spoke to all of them weekly?" Mary asked, frowning as she perused a long list on her tablet screen of her father's business contacts.

"Sometimes bi-weekly, my Lady," Carson nodded from his seat across the boardroom table. "His Lordship felt it important to maintain ties with all of them, even if they did not serve a direct purpose at the specific moment. Partly it was out of respect for family affiliations, and partly it was in case they would prove useful in the future."

"Of course," she replied, shaking her head as she thought of how much time would be wasted speaking on the telephone to all of these people. And what would she possibly have to say to them? It wasn't as though she could discuss the goings on at Downton or cricket or football in the same way her father did. "But surely Papa will still keep up his ties with these people? Many of them are his friends, not just colleagues."

"I suspect he will keep in touch with some of them, my Lady, however he won't be discussing business at all, given his new position. As well, I expect it would be hard to keep in touch while he's away on his worldwide cruise with Lady Grantham," he replied.

She nodded and swiped across the screen to move on to the next item. Carson had a long history with the Crawley family, and she had always gotten on well with him. He wasn't merely a butler. He knew everything there was to know about how her family worked and how the company functioned as well, particularly at the Board level. He had brought her and her sisters up at Downton Abbey, and probably favoured her the most. His support and guidance were invaluable. He had even helped her choose which schools to attend and mapped out her career track when she was just a teenager with a lot of ambition and very little direction. However, ultimately he was loyal to her father, and it was no surprise that he did not take Matthew's power play and her Papa's forced resignation very well. In many ways, Carson was stuck in the past in the same way that her father was. He never questioned anything, and merely carried out his orders faithfully and diligently. As a resource on what the President's job entailed, Carson was an important ally, however she would not be sharing her plans for the future with him anytime soon.

"Now, as President you'll be in charge of the investment portfolio as well, my Lady," he continued, bringing up an account statement on their tablets. "The by-laws call for certain stocks to be maintained as part of the company holdings, however beyond that you have relatively unfettered discretion. Neither Lady Grantham, nor Lady Rosamund are interested in such matters, and so there is no need for Board approval on any transactions you may wish to make."

"Good," she nodded, scanning over the individual stocks, bonds and other instruments held by the company. "Make sure that any personal holdings that my father wishes to keep are kept separate and apart from the company account. I know he liked to dabble back and forth between the two, but we'll want to keep a more clear delineation from now on."

"Yes, my Lady," he acknowledged, making a note for himself. "Do you have any ideas as to what you wish to do going forward with the portfolio?"

"A few," she replied, scanning the account statement. "I'll need to speak to Mr. Crawley about it before I decide what will be kept and what will be sold."

"Mr. Crawley…" Carson repeated, glancing up at her.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley," she said, looking over at him curiously. "He is the Managing Director, and has some investment expertise, Carson."

"Very well, my Lady," he said crisply, looking back at his tablet.

She blinked and stopped herself from visibly showing her annoyance. Matthew had accepted the fact that he would be diminished in some people's eyes even before he pursued his strategy to remove her Papa as President. As much as she wanted to admonish Carson, or anyone else who thought Matthew was nothing but an usurper, or worse, a puppet master, she kept quiet.

"In light of the change in command, a full review of all of the casino properties, as well as operations and employees would be prudent," he stated, bringing up another set of documents. "It will take a while, but we can get started now and see how far we get by this evening."

"Right," she agreed reluctantly. "I'm going to ring for some tea first. It looks like I'll need it."

* * *

Matthew glanced over at the boardroom. Carson and Mary were still seated at the conference table, staring at their tablets, numerous papers spread out between them. He watched for a moment, smiling as Mary waved her hand in front of her to prove a particular point and the old butler nodded along. He eventually turned away and headed to the elevator. Though he had barely said two words to her all day, it was obvious that Mary wouldn't be leaving for a while yet.

"Mr. Crawley, sir," William said, coming out of his office and meeting him at the elevator.

"Mr. Mason," Matthew replied, nodding to the young man. "Finally leaving at a decent hour. That's good to see."

"I've got a bit of a date, sir," William blushed, looking down at the floor.

"That's even better to hear," Matthew chuckled. "May I ask who?"

"It's Daisy, actually," William mumbled, blushing harder. "We spent a bit of time together leading up to the Crawley family Season party, and after everything that happened that night, we've been seeing a bit more of each other."

"Well good for you, Mr. Mason," Matthew said, smiling proudly. "Good for you."

"Thank you, sir," William said. "And how are things with you, if you don't mind my asking? I know it's been a few weeks since the party. Mr. Lewis hasn't mentioned anything particularly problematic coming out of all that went on that night."

"Everything is under control, yes, so far," Matthew said as the elevator doors opened and he gestured for William to step in first. "As expected, Mr. Blake and his agents are dissecting Sir Richard's affairs with an almost obsessive amount of meticulousness. The lawyers have been fighting back and forth in Court over what the government is allowed to examine and what they aren't. It'll be a while before any charges are brought, but I expect that he'll be far too busy to bother with us for quite some time."

"I can't say I wasn't happy to stop that surveillance on Mr. Hightower and the Albanians, sir," William said in relief. "It wasn't the most enjoyable of assignments."

"No, I expect it wasn't," Matthew smiled as they rode the lift down to the main floor.

"Dealing with persons of interest, sir, I noticed that Lord Gillingham hasn't been by at all lately," William said.

"No, he hasn't," Matthew confirmed. "He isn't particularly welcome at the moment, though he has been in touch with Lady Mary. We'll have to see if she feels like reinstating his privileges or not. It's her decision."

"Of course it is, sir," William said, following him out of the elevator. "She is the President, isn't she?"

"She most certainly is, Mr. Mason," Matthew said, smiling as he bid the young man goodbye and headed for the back entrance and his car.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, September 2015**

"Good evening, Lady Mary," the security guard said as she came off the elevator.

"Good evening," Mary replied, swiping her card across the door lock and going inside Matthew's suite. Her feet ached and her stomach was grumbling. Her meetings with Carson had run through dinner and well into the night. When she finally left the casino, she had him dropped off at Grantham House, then had Taylor take her to the hotel. She hadn't seen much of Matthew all day, and the rest of the week was shaping up to be more of the same. Even if she expected she would be asleep within a couple of hours, she still didn't want the only time they spent together to be a fleeting glimpse as she passed him in the office on her way to another meeting.

After removing her coat and heels, she walked straight through to the bedroom and went to her closet, desperate to get out of her dress and into something more comfortable. She had caught sight of Matthew sprawled on one of the sofas in the living room, likely having fallen asleep waiting for her to come back. Last night, while planning her schedule for her first day as President of Crawley Group, he hadn't offered to accompany her to her various meetings and she hadn't asked him to. As much as she would have loved to have him at her side, it wasn't the image they wanted to present. Rumours were swirling that Matthew had either forced her Papa to step down, or that she had been promoted in an attempt by her family to block Matthew from seizing the President's chair for himself. Either way, it was important that she stand alone, both so that her authority would not be questioned, and also that it did not appear that Matthew was orchestrating anything behind the scenes.

Changing into a loose fitting shirt and stretch leggings, she went into the bathroom, the tile smooth beneath her bare feet. She quickly washed her face, refreshing herself a bit before coming out to the living room. Smiling at his resting figure, she went and sat down next to his head, playing her fingers through his hair.

"Hi," he mumbled, eyes closed as he reached out and lay his arm across her lap.

"Hi," she replied, caressing his face lightly with her fingers. "Thank you for waiting for me."

"Sure," he said, yawning as he sat up and turned towards her, reaching his arm out to allow her to snuggle against him. "I wasn't entirely certain you'd show up. I thought you might just go back to Grantham House and sleep there."

"I thought about it, but quickly dismissed the idea," she explained. "Today was my first day as President of Crawley Group, and I didn't want to spend the evening with Sybil and Edith."

"That's nice of you," he said, blinking several times to stir himself to wakefulness. "Careful though. You'll make me think I'm special."

"You are," she said firmly, turning towards him and running her hand along his chest. "I know that things will be quite chaotic as I settle into the job, and we won't have much time together, but I want to see you when I can, no matter how late, or how inconvenient it may be for us. I need you, Matthew."

"Well that is rather flattering," he said, kissing her lightly. "Are you sure? We can always put this off to another night. I don't want you to feel you're obligated to be here with me just because we didn't see each other much today."

"We barely saw each other at all," she complained. "And I don't want to put it off. I don't want to put you off."

"And here I thought I was the needy one, desperate to see you every day," he said, kissing her again.

"Apparently we are one of those disgusting couples who must spend most of our free moments together," she muttered, smiling at him to belie her sarcasm. "Shockingly I have no qualms about that at all."

"That is utterly shocking," he agreed. "Lady Mary Crawley actually admitting she wants to spend time with a man."

"Don't let the word get out, people will think I've gone soft," she ordered, then kissed him and nuzzled his neck. "I'm not just doing my duty as your girlfriend, you know. I want to be here, with you, and I want to do it tonight, very much so."

"All right, you know I'm always up for it," he said. "If that's what you want."

"It is," she said, lifting her head and looking directly into his eyes. "It's what I want, and as stupidly dramatic as it may sound, it's what I need right now. I don't want to think about work, I just want to be here with you, and I've been looking forward to this all day. The very idea helped get me through a number of boring meetings."

"Thinking about it while at the office? Now that's rather inappropriate," he teased. "Hmm, well now I'm nervous that it won't measure up to your standards."

"You needn't worry about that. I've never had reason to complain before," she answered, smiling back at him. "Your record is quite spotless, I must say."

"Well that doesn't create any pressure at all," he groaned, getting up from the sofa. He turned around to face her, taking her hands in his.

"Don't think of it that way," she said gently, looking up past his bare chest to his smiling face. "Just look at it as another opportunity for you to dazzle me."

"Okay," he nodded.

She released his hands and sat back on the sofa, watching as he walked over to the side table and fetched a tray. He brought the tray back over and set it on the coffee table before her. She leaned forward and watched as he sat back down next to her and revealed each of the covered dishes.

"Tomato soup, still hot," he announced as he unveiled the china bowl and plate of dinner rolls and moved on to the next dish. "A small side salad, cucumbers and tomatoes mostly, and for your main, chicken pad thai with vegetables and a touch of lime."

She grinned as she looked over the items he had ordered for her dinner. She reached over and grabbed a piece of chicken as he snapped a linen napkin open and laid it across her knee.

"And now, to satisfy another of your cravings," he said, sitting back and pointing his phone at the large television.

Mary leaned against him, balancing the soup bowl on her lap and savouring a spoonful as he rubbed her back and the recording of _An Inspector Calls_ began playing on the screen.

"Good?" he asked, holding the soup bowl for her as she ate.

"Exactly what I needed," she said happily as they settled in and watched the movie.

 **Carlisle World Media Group Incorporated, 34** **th** **floor, 30 St. Mary Axe, London, England, October 2015**

"Why are they allowed to review records from fifteen years ago?" Richard demanded, glaring at his team of lawyers seated around the table. "What possible reason do I have to permit them access to any of that?"

The lawyers looked uncomfortably at each other. Giving Sir Richard Carlisle bad news was never enjoyable, and there had been plenty of bad news since the government began investigating his corporate and personal tax records, but telling him what he could and could not do was near suicide.

"Sir Richard," the senior partner said, clearing his throat. "As we mentioned, the test for whether a document is reviewable or examinable is a 'semblance of relevance' only. It's a very low threshold, you understand. HMRC is trying to determine just how long it's been that you and your company may have been…allegedly…misrepresenting your income, and so they are digging quite far back."

"I won't give it to them," Richard said, waving his hand dismissively. "We'll argue it before a Judge."

"Sir Richard," another partner said, looking carefully over at his colleagues. "We've lost the last two motions brought on a similar issue. I expect that a Judge would wonder why he shouldn't follow the previous decisions."

"Then give him a reason!" Richard snarled. "If we lose, then we'll appeal, and if we lose the appeal, we'll appeal again. I'm not giving the fucking government access to my records without a fight, so go and find a winning argument, or I'll find another overpriced law firm who will!"

The room fell deathly silent.

"Yes, sir," the senior partner said finally, rising from his chair and nodding respectfully to Sir Richard. The other lawyers scampered after him, taking their cue to leave before Richard really got mad.

"Well, that was a productive meeting," Cyril said, closing his folio.

"Why am I paying ten lawyers to lose in Court?" Richard asked, shaking his head.

"The goal at this point is to stall for as long as possible," Cyril reminded him. "Make it a war of attrition and hope the government will settle."

"Charles Blake won't settle," Richard scoffed, getting up from his chair and going over to the bar cart. He poured himself a Scotch and sipped it as he looked out across the London skyline. "He smells blood and he wants a taste. He's nothing but a bureaucrat, and he thinks he's hooked a big fish."

"He'll come around," Cyril said. "Or we'll give him a reason to come around."

"Just be careful," Richard said, still looking out the window. "The last thing I want is for MI:5 to go looking into more than just my taxes."

"What about Matthew Crawley?" Cyril asked.

"What about him?" Richard spat, frowning even more at the mention of his name.

"I'm surprised you haven't given me any orders to carry out regarding him," Cyril said. "He's made your life a living hell. I would think you'd want to do the same, now more than ever."

"He's not the one who called in the government," Richard said calmly.

"He's not? How do you know?" Cyril asked in surprise.

"That's not the sort of thing he would do," Richard replied. "He knows the game far better than I gave him credit for. Charles Blake was at the party for me. He must have found out I was on the guest list before Lord Grantham took back my invitation. All Matthew Crawley did was take advantage of a tricky situation. He's no snitch. The Crawley family code wouldn't permit it, and I was right when I said he wouldn't want to put Lady Mary and her sisters at risk by taking me on."

"Then if not Matthew Crawley, then who?" Cyril asked.

"Who cares? It could be anyone," Richard said bitterly. "I have no shortage of rivals who have far more to gain from my ruin than Matthew Crawley. No, we're better served by fending off the government and not taking any other steps. We're being watched. The tax investigation could be just the beginning if we fuck up. We need to do everything that any corporation would do to oppose them, and don't give them any excuse to think we're anything else."

"Surely you aren't going to just let this go, though?" Cyril asked, frowning at his boss' back.

"Of course not," Richard replied, linking his hands together behind his back. "We'll deal with this case first, allow others to believe we're weak and diminishing, and when someone tries to take advantage, we'll strike."

"Very good, sir," Cyril nodded, turning back to his tablet.

 **Pied** **à** **Terre Restaurant, Soho, London, England, October 2015**

"I should have called sooner," Evelyn said, shaking his head as he stirred his tea. "All of that unfortunate business from the Season party and your promotion, I expected you were quite busy."

"I was, and I am," Mary replied, smiling at him politely. "But I'm never too busy for a friend. You should have called sooner, yes."

"Well, I also didn't think it proper," he added, looking up at her. "Matthew wouldn't have appreciated it, I'm sure."

"Why would you say that?" she asked in amusement. "Do you think that Matthew feels threatened by you?"

"Apparently you don't," he said, smiling wryly.

"Evelyn, there's no need for games between us, is there? We know where we stand. My parents believed we would make a brilliant match years ago, but I'd have driven you mad quite quickly, I'm sure of it," she said kindly. "We're much better off as friends, and I'm sure Matthew is well aware of that."

"I suppose you're right, though I am loath to admit it," he agreed, chuckling ruefully. "But you're happy, Mary, truly?"

"I am," she declared firmly. "Very, very happy, Evelyn. Believe it or not, I'm happier than I ever thought possible."

"Now that is a shocking admission," he laughed as their starter courses were served.

"No one is more shocked than me, you can be sure," she laughed along with him. "But these past months have been quite shocking. Being President is so much more than I ever imagined, and I'm enjoying all of it, even the ridiculous demands that come along with it."

"And Matthew makes you happy?" he asked. "I don't see a ring on your finger and I haven't read any announcement in the papers."

"We've been together for less than a year," she retorted, stabbing her fork into a cucumber slice. "There's no hurry."

"But?" he prompted her.

"But yes, yes, he makes me very happy indeed," she admitted, blushing slightly as she looked down at her plate.

"Good," he said, nodding at her answer. "And how is your expansion at Crockfords coming?"

"Very well," she said, smiling at the thought. "Edith says we should be finished on schedule. We're aiming for a January opening, giving us a few weeks with the new place before the Lunar New Year in February. We're expecting a rather large tourist bump in that month."

"Splendid," he said. "I'm looking forward to seeing it."

Before she could continue their conversation, her mobile lit up. She glanced at it and frowned.

"I'm sorry, Evelyn, I need to take this," she apologized, picking her phone up off the table. "It's Murray, the company lawyer."

"Of course," he said, nodding politely.

"Hello, Murray," she said, answering the call. "I'm at lunch and don't have much time. I assume this is important?"

"It is, Lady Mary," Murray replied. "We've just received word from the Court of Appeal. The hearing date in the Phil Ivey matter has been set for December 10."

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, October 2015**

"That's barely a month's notice," Mary complained, frowning as she looked at Matthew from her chair on the other side of his desk. "We didn't think we'd be in until at least February, and now they tell us this? For months we've heard nothing and now they see fit to throw this spanner at us!"

"Calm down," Matthew said. "The materials have been ready for months and you approved Murray's arguments ages ago. A few weeks is all it will take for all of us to get back up to speed and we'll be ready in plenty of time. I think it a lucky stroke, actually."

"A lucky stroke?" she asked, staring at him incredulously. "How? It puts us at a disadvantage! Not to mention the news cycle is slow in December regardless, which means the press will be all over it."

"The press would be all over it in December or February," he said patiently. "We'll be ready, Mary. Besides, it isn't as if you can do anything about it. Asking for an adjournment will make us look unprepared and weak. We need to show Phil, his lawyers and the entire world that we were ready to go months ago, and that we're eager to get this over with because we know that our victory in the High Court will be affirmed."

"So much for easing into my tenure as President," she grumbled, shaking her head. "Facing a Court hearing in the first months of my rule. I can't wait to see what Papa says if we lose."

"We won't lose," he said firmly.

"I don't want Alex and Anna to delay their trip," she said, nodding determinedly. "They'll want to stay here to help out, but don't let them. Granny wouldn't let me hear the end of it, and besides, they deserve to take this vacation."

"I agree," he said. "I've already told Alex as much. He called when he heard the news and said he was canceling their flights."

"Don't let him," she ordered. "At least some of us should be allowed to escape."

"And why not you?" he asked.

"Don't be stupid, Matthew, I'm not in the mood," she said bitterly.

"I'm serious," he said. "I think you should go away for a bit. You've been working furiously since I arrived last year. You deserve a break as well, darling."

"And when do you propose I do that? And where would I go?" she asked.

"Let me take care of all of that," he said, smirking at her. "After the appeal hearing is over. If we win, then you must come away with me immediately."

"And if we lose?" she retorted, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I suggest that we should still get away, but I'll leave that to you to decide. However, if the Court of Appeal reserves their decision, which I expect that they will, then that counts as a win and you will pack your bags and follow wherever I decide to take us."

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, pouting as she weighed his words.

"What do you say?" he asked. "Do we have a bet?"

"Fine," she said finally. "If we win the appeal, or if the decision is reserved, I shall follow you wherever you command me to go."

"Good," he said cheerfully, getting up and coming around to her chair. "Shall we seal it officially?"

"If you like," she muttered, standing up and holding out her hand to him.

"Not like that," he chuckled.

"Oh, all right," she allowed, rolling her eyes.

She stepped towards him, allowing a slight smile to cross her lips before she tilted her head up and let him kiss her softly.

"If you want your fantasy of sweeping me off my feet and whisking me away on some grand trip to come true, then you had best work extra hard to make sure we are as ready for this appeal as you claim we are," she said, looking at him seriously.

"Don't worry, darling. I have quite a lot of motivation to see things through," he replied, smiling at her as he went back around and sat down in his chair. "Here, let's get started."

He slid a tablet across his desk to her. She picked it up and turned it on, smirking at him as she settled into her chair more comfortably.

"Now, let's start with their factum, since they are the ones who will make the first submissions," he said, bringing up the document on his computer screen.

 **Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France, October 2015**

"Monsieur Lewis, mademoiselle Smith, par ici, s'il vous plaît," the limo driver said crisply, nodding to Alex and Anna and escorting them over to the waiting car.

"It's rather chilly," Anna noted as Alex helped her into the back seat, then followed in behind her. "I knew we should have waited. It would have been warmer in the spring."

"The South will be warm," he said cheerfully, taking a bottle of water from the console in front of them and handing it to her. "Besides, it's far easier to tour around when the weather is pleasant, as opposed to hot."

"I suppose," she mumbled, opening the bottle and taking a sip.

"Am I going to be competing with Lady Mary the entire time we're here?" he asked jokingly. "Just let me know now so I can plan to do something with myself while you're having your alone time with her each day."

"Don't be unfair," she said, frowning at him. "Her first months as President are very important. What if something goes wrong? What if they lose the appeal? The press will tear her apart. I'm her assistant. How can I gallivant across the Riviera while she's in the wars back home?"

"Lady Mary and Matthew insisted that we take this trip," he said gently as the limo made its way into the city. "They forbid us from checking in with them, and when we get back in December, they'll fill us in on everything that happened. If damage control needs to be done, you'll be there to do it. For now, you're on vacation, Miss Smith, and all discussion of work shall cease the moment we leave this car and go into our hotel."

She sighed, then gave him a brave smile.

"All right, if I must. Everything's already paid for, anyway," she joked.

"How kind of you," he shot back, leaning over and kissing her lightly.

She rested her head on his shoulder as the Paris skyline came into view.

 **Terrace Suite, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Paris, France, October 2015**

Anna smiled genuinely as she looked out the window at the old buildings and landmarks all around them. Alex ordered the driver to take the longer scenic route into the capital, and the limo passed along the River Seine, by Notre-Dame Cathedral, the Louvre, and the Tuileries before finally arriving at their hotel. By the time the driver opened the rear door to allow them to step out, she had a bright grin on her face, thinking of her carefully organized itinerary and all that they would see together in the coming week before they went into the Loire Valley and beyond.

The last trip she had taken outside of England was a rather haphazard backpacking journey to Spain that had ended abruptly with her wallet stolen. She had gone back to Brighton miserable and broke, needing a vacation to recover from her vacation. Alex had taken care of the accommodations and travel arrangements, and while she knew they were staying in a rather posh hotel, she was still overwhelmed when they were shown into their suite. The website photos did not do it justice.

She went through the small foyer and past the living room, glancing just briefly at the King size bed in the bedroom before she stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was shining overhead and though it was a touch cold, she didn't care, going straight to the balcony and looking out onto the gorgeous view. The Opera House was in the distance, and she could see gardens and old buildings stretching to the horizon. The chatter of passersby and cars filled the air with a vibrancy, and yet she felt she was a bit removed, as though their suite was a world of its own and she was looking out onto Paris from on high, despite being just a few stories up.

"What do you think?" Alex asked, coming up behind her and kissing her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"It's beautiful," she said happily, shaking her head in wonder. "I honestly never imagined I would stay at a place like this, at least not without blowing a few months' wages anyway."

"Well, hopefully this trip will be full of many such memorable moments," he said.

"It already is," she said, turning her head and kissing him. "So, where do you think our security is camped out?"

"Who knows?" he laughed. "I told Lady Grantham, Matthew and Rose that we didn't need any protection, which probably means that each of them made arrangements to have someone watching us, just to be safe. I imagine they followed us to the hotel and are probably hanging around down in the lobby or something."

"It seems unfair that they should be on the clock like that when they aren't needed," she said. "I feel perfectly safe where I am right now."

He hummed contentedly as she shifted her hips and wiggled against him.

"Careful, Anna," he teased. "For all we know, we could be under surveillance as we speak."

"Really?" she asked lightly, turning in his arms and facing him. "Well, we may as well show them that all is well, then, shouldn't we?"

He chuckled as she slid her hands into his hair and pulled him down into a deep kiss.


	33. Chapter 33

**Previously:**

 **Terrace Suite, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Paris, France, October 2015**

Anna smiled genuinely as she looked out the window at the old buildings and landmarks all around them. Alex ordered the driver to take the longer scenic route into the capital, and the limo passed along the River Seine, by Notre-Dame Cathedral, the Louvre, and the Tuileries before finally arriving at their hotel. By the time the driver opened the rear door to allow them to step out, she had a bright grin on her face, thinking of her carefully organized itinerary and all that they would see together in the coming week before they went into the Loire Valley and beyond.

The last trip she had taken outside of England was a rather haphazard backpacking journey to Spain that had ended abruptly with her wallet stolen. She had gone back to Brighton miserable and broke, needing a vacation to recover from her vacation. Alex had taken care of the accommodations and travel arrangements, and while she knew they were staying in a rather posh hotel, she was still overwhelmed when they were shown into their suite. The website photos did not do it justice.

She went through the small foyer and past the living room, glancing just briefly at the King size bed in the bedroom before she stepped out on to the terrace. The sun was shining overhead and though it was a touch cold, she didn't care, going straight to the balcony and looking out onto the gorgeous view. The Opera House was in the distance, and she could see gardens and old buildings stretching to the horizon. The chatter of passersby and cars filled the air with a vibrancy, and yet she felt she was a bit removed, as though their suite was a world of its own and she was looking out onto Paris from on high, despite being just a few stories up.

"What do you think?" Alex asked, coming up behind her and kissing her cheek. Her wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"It's beautiful," she said happily, shaking her head in wonder. "I honestly never imagined I would stay at a place like this, at least not without blowing a few months' wages anyway."

"Well, hopefully this trip will be full of many such memorable moments," he said.

"It already is," she said, turning her head and kissing him. "So, where do you think our security is camped out?"

"Who knows?" he laughed. "I told Lady Grantham, Matthew and Rose that we didn't need any protection, which probably means that each of them made arrangements to have someone watching us just to be safe. I imagine they followed us to the hotel and are probably hanging around down in the lobby or something."

"It seems unfair that they should be on the clock like that when they aren't needed," she said. "I feel perfectly safe where I am right now."

He hummed contentedly as she shifted her hips and wiggled against him.

"Careful, Anna," he teased. "For all we know, we could be under surveillance as we speak."

"Really?" she asked lightly, turning in his arms and facing him. "Well, we may as well show them that all is well, then, shouldn't we?"

He chuckled as she slid her hands into his hair and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

 **Chapter 33:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 2015**

"Well?" Mary asked as she followed Edith through the front door and into the foyer.

"Well, what?" Edith asked, looking over her shoulder at her sister as they walked across the polished tile and over to the grand staircase.

"Edith, you asked me to come over because you supposedly had something important to discuss," Mary noted, rolling her eyes as they reached the second floor hallway and walked towards their bedrooms.

"I do," Edith said quietly. "It's very important."

"Well, what is it, then?" Mary asked, growing more and more annoyed. "Edith, I have virtually no time at all. Matthew's expecting me and I promised him I wouldn't be long."

"You won't be!" Edith said nervously, opening the door to her bedroom and stepping inside.

"If the beginning of this conversation is any indication, then I think that I very well may be," Mary grumbled, walking over and sitting down on Edith's bed. She looked at her sister impatiently as Edith closed the door and went and sat down at her vanity, biting her bottom lip and fidgeting with her fingers.

"It's a…personal matter," Edith said carefully.

"Obviously," Mary scoffed. "We generally don't need to go back to your room to discuss business. Now, what is it? If you want to take a holiday or something, go ahead. I'm not as draconian as Papa was with respect to personal time off."

"No, no, it's not that," Edith shook her head.

"Then what is it? For God's sake, Edith!" Mary huffed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"It's about Bertie," Edith said, blushing and looking down at the carpet.

"Ah, Lord Hexham," Mary said, nodding in recognition. "And how is he?"

"He's very well," Edith said, smiling slightly. "We've been seeing a bit more of each other since the Season party. I quite enjoy his company, actually."

"Sybil mentioned something to that effect," Mary stated, shrugging with indifference. "Good for you, Edith. A Marquess…slightly more impressive than a newspaper editor."

Edith did not share in Mary's joke and remained quiet.

"That's all? You just wanted to tell me that you're dating Lord Hexham?" Mary asked.

"I wanted you to know, yes, and I wanted to…ask you something…" Edith continued.

"All right, what is it?" Mary asked.

"Well, it's just that he…I…we…erm…" Edith struggled.

"He…" Mary repeated, shaking her head. "…has a son who's gay?"

"No!" Edith replied, frowning at the suggestion. "Nothing like that!"

"Right, he's the Marquess of Hexham, not Queensberry, and it's the wrong century anyway, my mistake," Mary said, smiling smugly to herself. "Carry on, then."

"It's just that we…we haven't…slept together…yet…" Edith finally sputtered.

Mary blinked in surprise.

"You…haven't slept with him?" Mary asked, weighing the words. "All right. So…what?"

"Well, it isn't as if we haven't had the opportunity," Edith explained. "We've kissed, and fooled around a bit, but we just haven't…done it…yet."

"What does any of this have to do with me, Edith?" Mary asked, rolling her eyes again. "The precise details of your sex life with Lord Hexham, or the lack thereof, is really of no interest to…"

"I don't know what to do!" Edith cried, covering her forehead with her hand as she broke down.

Mary arched her eyebrow as high as she ever had.

"You…don't know what to do?" Mary asked incredulously.

"Well, I know what to do, of course," Edith said, shaking her head. "It's just that I quite like Bertie and I want it to be…special…with him."

"I'm sure that it will be, Edith," Mary said slowly, at a loss as to what else she should say.

"It's just that the others times that I've…been with a man," Edith said, swallowing audibly. "Weren't particularly that good, and I don't think I really enjoyed it as much as I ought to have, and I don't want that with him."

"Edith, every man is different, as is your response to him," Mary said gently. "You need not be scared that whatever happened with someone else will happen with him, good or bad. If you care for each other, then it will be quite nice for the both of you."

"I don't want it to be just nice!" Edith muttered, frowning as she finally looked at Mary directly. "I want to impress him, and surprise him, and for it to be amazing and wonderful and all of the rest of it!"

Mary's mouth fell open as she looked at her sister in shock.

Edith shut her eyes momentarily and grimaced before looking at Mary again.

"Edith," Mary said patiently, finally composing herself. "I'm sorry to shatter whatever illusions you may have, but sex isn't fireworks and explosions every time, you know."

"I know that!" Edith said rather unconvincingly. "I just want it to be better with him than it's been for me before."

"But why would you want to put that pressure on yourself in advance?" Mary asked. "If you're hell bent on having some romance novel-level passion for your first time with him, then you'll likely fall short. It takes time to learn about each other, to understand what you like and what he likes, what works for the both of you. It isn't all grinding and moaning and breaking the bedframe from the very beginning. Even if Lord Hexham is an accomplished lover, which I suspect he isn't, that doesn't mean your first time together will be particularly legendary, and there's nothing wrong with that at all. Nice is perfectly fine."

"God, I knew I shouldn't have come to you about this!" Edith mumbled, staring harshly at the carpet. "As if you would even understand what I'm feeling!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mary demanded.

"You're just being patronising!" Edith retorted. "I saw you here the morning after your first time with Matthew! You were flying! You had this delighted look in your eye as though you'd discovered some brilliant secret that only you knew! You spent all weekend at his hotel then flew off to Abu Dhabi with him, so don't act as though you were just slowly learning each other and it was all pedestrian and normal. The two of you can barely keep your hands off each other. A day doesn't go by where I don't catch you having eye sex with him at the office or across the dinner table. You're both absolutely shameless!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Mary answered, her cheeks blushing fiercely. "Matthew and I are entirely professional and polite with each other at work!"

"Oh come off it," Edith fired back. "I know you and Matthew have incredible sex together. It's ridiculously obvious. I don't resent you for it. I just want to feel that way with Bertie…I want him to look at me the way that Matthew looks at you…entirely smitten and almost openly lustful."

Mary opened her mouth to object, then stopped herself. She swallowed, gathering her thoughts, warring internally with herself as to what to do next. Finally, she got up from the bed and walked over to take a seat in the chair closer to her sister.

"Edith," Mary said quietly, looking at her sister's despondent face. "I'm not thrilled to share this with you, but I will if it will help you somehow. Yes, Matthew is a wonderful lover. He's the best I've ever had, and I'm quite certain I'm the best he's ever been with as well."

Mary silently apologized to Matthew in her mind as she went on. Most men would love to hear their girlfriends brag about their prowess, but Matthew would surely be aghast if he knew that she was discussing intimate details of their relationship with her sister.

"But what I told you before was true," Mary stated. "Matthew and I didn't suddenly know exactly how to please one another from the very beginning. Our first time was incredible, but that was as much from the shock of being together as any particular skill by either of us. We spent most of that first weekend holding each other and just talking about what we liked, what made us feel good, what we wanted from each other. He didn't just jump on me and do as he pleased. He wanted to know what I liked, and eventually, I told him."

"He did? You did?" Edith asked in surprise. "That's so unlike you."

"I was quite shocked at first when he asked me. No man ever has before," Mary admitted. "Our first time was so good that I just expected we would do the same things again, but that's not what he wanted. He wanted to know me, for us to try things together, so that we both would be more confident, rather than just guessing or trying to impose our assumptions on each other. I found the entire idea embarrassing at first. I don't particularly think about such things very often, let alone discuss them openly, but he was right…the more we learned about each other, the better things became."

"That's what I want," Edith said, blushing herself now. "Normally I just…lie still, or at most just wait to be told what to do. I've never…taken the initiative. I don't even know how to…well…how to please a man…in that way."

Mary frowned, trying to interpret Edith's words, then blinked as she caught on.

"It's not that important," Mary said, forging ahead, still not quite believing that they were having this conversation. It reminded her of a rather uncomfortable talk she had with Sybil about bra sizes back when they were teenagers. "Not all men care about that, you know. Maybe Lord Hexham isn't interested in it."

Edith stared at her incredulously.

"All right, fine, he probably would love it," Mary conceded, shaking her head.

"And I want to! I just…" Edith stammered. "I think if I talked to him about it beforehand, he would be mortified. I just want to have some idea of what I'm doing when the time comes."

Mary rolled her eyes and sighed.

"All right," Mary said, turning back to Edith. "But if you ever tell Matthew that I told you any of this, I'll kill you. I mean it."

Edith blinked, then nodded, not daring to speak.

"And if Sybil ever has these same questions, I'm sending her to you," Mary declared. "I hardly want to be known as the sex ed teacher among us."

Edith laughed meekly in reply.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Mary muttered, shaking her head again then looking at Edith's hopeful expression. "All right, what exactly do you want to know?"

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2015**

"There you are!" Matthew exclaimed, getting up from the sofa as Mary came in. "I thought you'd gone off me and decided to abandon our plans."

"Hardly," Mary scoffed, walking over and kissing him lightly. "I'll just be a moment."

"All right," he said, following her into the bedroom. While he waited, he swung his arms around, stretching his shoulders. "What took you so long, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing," she called from the closet as she changed out of her dress and into a sports bra and shorts. "I just needed to stop off at home for a moment to have a chat with Edith."

"Ah, I see," he replied. "What did she want?"

"Nothing important," she replied, putting on a t-shirt and carrying her trainers out into the bedroom. "Just sister stuff."

"I'm pleased to see you and Edith getting along," he said cheerfully. "I dare say that working side-by-side on the expansion has done you both a world of good."

"She works for me, darling," she said pointedly, sitting down and lacing up her trainers. "I'm the boss."

"Who could ever forget that?" he said wryly, waiting for her to finish getting her shoes on. "Ready?"

"Ready," she declared, following him out the door to the elevator.

"And what is the challenge today?" he asked as he pressed the button for the hotel gym.

"Shoulders," she replied, smiling at him. "Number of presses in thirty seconds, normal weight."

"Thirty seconds, normal weight, fine," he agreed. "And the stakes?"

"Must everything be about gambling with you?" she asked pointedly, arching her eyebrow at him. "If you truly want something from me, then you should just ask, rather than going to all this trouble to try and put me in your debt."

"That's bloody hilarious coming from you," he laughed, shaking his head. "You're the most competitive person in the world. Everything is a contest with you. Whenever you win, I don't hear the end of it for days."

"Hardly," she scoffed. "I'm no more competitive than the next girl. You're one to call anyone else competitive, you'd bet on the colour of the next car coming down the road if you could."

"I don't believe I've ever done that, actually," he noted, smiling as he motioned for her to exit the lift first. "Fine. Shoulder presses. Thirty seconds. Normal weight. No stakes."

"Well, we have to have something as a reward," she said. "It's boring otherwise."

"The glory of victory isn't enough for you, is it?" he chuckled.

"For me, it is," she replied as they walked into the gym. "But it's important that you have a token to remind you of your defeat."

He laughed as he handed her a towel. "Very well. What do you propose?"

"Well, we both know what you want as a prize," she said pointedly, smirking at him. "But when I win, I want a new Birkin bag."

"A Birkin bag. Right?" he repeated, laughing incredulously. "You want me to buy you a £10,000 purse if you beat me at a thirty-second shoulder press challenge?"

"Yes," she said simply. "That way whenever anyone compliments me on it, I can regale them with the exact details of how I got it."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, smiling at her as they went over to the weight rack.

"Why?" she asked lightly. "What price would you put on what you want me to do in the event that you win?"

"Erm, well…" he stammered. "That's priceless, of course."

"Good answer," she said archly, reaching for the 20-pound dumbbells. "Now, do we have terms?"

"We have terms," he said, grabbing the 35-pounders and shaking his head as he watched her walk over to the bench.

 **Terrace Suite, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Paris, France, November 2015**

Alex kissed Anna's neck, pressing his lips against her pulse point, which was beating madly. She squeezed her legs around his hips, closing her eyes as he thrust inside of her again.

"Alex," she gasped, running her hands up his bare back, hanging on to his shoulder blades as her excitement built from his movements on her. "Oh, yeah, yeah…"

He grunted as he felt her tighten around him, his hips grinding against hers as he continued his strokes, knowing they were both close, wanting desperately to go over when she did. He kissed her firmly and lifted his head, his mind swimming as he watched her begin to fall apart. She moaned loudly as she let go, the feel of her release sending him past the edge as well. He groaned and pressed against her, holding still for several moments as pleasure washed over both of them. Placing light kisses all over her face, he became mindful of his weight on top of her, and withdrew, rolling on to his back.

"Crikey," she sighed, opening her eyes and sweeping her hair away from her face. Her tired laugh and dazed expession caused a jolt of arousal to hit him despite his weak legs.

"I know," he chuckled. "You're incredible."

"Shut up," she said, slapping him lightly as a blush filled her cheeks. "I wasn't talking about that."

"You weren't?" he asked, smiling at her in amusement. "Fuck, I must have been rubbish then."

"That's not what I meant! And you know you weren't rubbish!" she scoffed. He laughed again, then nudged her as they both got up out of bed and went over to the bathroom. "I just still find all of this shocking, is all," she said.

"What's so shocking to you?" he asked, removing the condom and throwing it in the garbage. He took a towel and handed it to her before taking one for himself and going over to the shower.

"Just this lifestyle of ours over the past two weeks," she explained, towelling herself off, then going to the sink and washing her face. "Staying in a luxurious hotel suite, taking day trips to beautiful castles in the Loire, having delicious meals at fine restaurants, making love to my boyfriend in the middle of the day with no concern for the time or a schedule. It's not at all what I'm used to."

"I'm glad that I was mentioned in there somewhere," he teased, having a quick rinse then stepping out of the shower. "And I agree. This entire trip has been a dream, and I don't intend for it to end anytime soon."

"Well, we still have over a month left," she noted, putting her towel away and taking his hand to lead him back to bed. "Which is another thing. The last time I took six weeks off from work was…never."

"And you've only checked in with the office five times since we've been here," he noted, getting into bed with her and pulling the duvet over them.

"I have not!" she protested, cuddling against his chest.

"Fine, four times," he corrected himself, drawing a light elbow from her to his side. "I'm still waiting for you to announce that we need to go back early for whatever reason."

"Well, I haven't found an excuse yet," she said, closing her eyes and smiling. "I'm enjoying our little dream world for now. What's next?"

"A bit of a kip," he said, kissing the top of her head and closing his eyes. "I believe you've blocked off this afternoon for shopping?"

"Mmm, so I have," she said, napping in his arms.

 **Golden Union Fish & Chips, Soho, London, England, November 2015**

"Fuck, I'm late," Sybil groaned, spearing a piece of battered haddock with her fork and taking a bite.

"You've got time," Matthew said, shaking his head and smiling at her as he took a drink of his dark ale. "It's less than ten minutes to get to school from here."

"Not walking, it's not," she scoffed. "And you're not driving me. That's your second beer."

"Of course I'm not driving you," he said, looking at his mobile. "I've made arrangements for you."

"You didn't have Taylor come over just for me, did you?" she asked, frowning at him.

"No, though that wouldn't be out of the ordinary. His is the family chauffeur, you know. That's his job – to provide transportation by road."

She rolled her eyes and ate another chip.

"How does Mary seem to you lately?" he asked, changing the subject.

"The usual," Sybil replied with a shrug. "She's nervous about the appeal, of course. "With the hearing being less than a month away now, I think she's having a bit of a panic. Other than that, she's fine. Have you noticed any issues at the office?"

"Other than the anxiety over the appeal, as you mentioned, no, nothing else, surprisingly," he said. "I'm almost afraid to say that after wanting to be President for so long, now that she is, it's turned out to be a tad easier than she expected."

"Probably because it's late in the year," she offered. "Papa always said things slowed down towards Christmas."

"He would say that," he muttered. "It's quite busy at the casinos. Holiday parties and tourists coming to the city and such. Henry Talbot is coming by with his bankers next month once again."

"You aren't still jealous of him, are you?" she asked, smiling at him. "Come on, Matthew."

"I'm not jealous of him!" he whinged. "I just find him annoying, is all, and to spend time with him is rather horrible."

"Right, not jealous," she laughed. "I hope you're working on getting a thicker skin. Mary has always attracted the attentions of men, and that won't change. You could lock her up in her office and the janitor and security guards would be flirting with her by the end of the day."

"Thanks, that makes me feel loads better," he grumbled.

"Well, it should," she said, looking at him intently. "At any given time, my sister has no shortage of men interested in her, and yet for nearly a year now, she's chosen you instead. If anything, you should want more men to make a pass at her. It only makes you look better."

He frowned at her.

"Yeah, maybe you don't want more men to go after her," she admitted. "But you shouldn't feel anything but supreme confidence, is what I'm saying. You can trust Mary, you know."

"Of course I trust her!" he scoffed. "That doesn't mean I welcome watching a bunch of bankers drooling all over her."

"Well, then quit being Managing Director, because otherwise you're committed to these events for the foreseeable future," she said candidly.

"And what about you, Sybil Crawley, MSc?" he countered. "Should we be expecting you to do a PhD in the coming years?"

"I can't imagine how," she sighed. "School's fine but I still have no clue what I'm going to do when I'm finished. Another degree is probably the second last thing I want to do, right before going into the family business."

"My offer still stands, you know," he said.

"And my answer remains unchanged," she said, smiling at him. "You're very sweet, but I won't be bound to you like that."

"Why is everything about obligation with you? Mary's the same way. It's as though none of you can look at anything without thinking of what's in it for the other person or what someone's true motivation or ulterior motive might be. You're all scared to death of being indebted to someone else, rather than just accepting that there are actually people in the world willing to do things for you without the prospect of personal gain."

"Blame it on our upbringing," she answered lightly. "You have to admit that we weren't exactly surrounded by selfless people who didn't want something from us in return."

"Like me, Carson and all of your servants, you mean?" he retorted, grinning at her smugly.

"That's different," she replied, snorting dismissively. "Carson is loyal to the family, and always has been. The servants are all paid to do their jobs."

"And me?" he asked pointedly.

"You…are just different," she said, smiling at him. "But that doesn't mean I'll take advantage of you."

"I'll just have to come up with an offer that you can't refuse," he said, taking another drink.

"Good luck with that," she laughed. "I'm not one of your usual problems, Matthew. You can't just throw money at me."

"I can be persistent, and creative, when necessary. And you're never a problem," he said firmly. "A right pain, sometimes, yes, but never a problem."

"Bite me, yeah?" she laughed, finishing her lunch and wiping her hands.

"There you are. Are you ready to go? I'm parked illegally," a voice called.

Sybil looked up and blinked in surprise as Edith stood before them.

"Edith! What are you doing here?" Sybil asked in confusion.

"What are you talking about? Matthew told me to come and pick you up and drive you to school. Now come on! If I get another parking ticket, Mary won't let me hear the end of it for weeks!" Edith said, moving her fingers in a circle to urge Sybil to get going.

"Thank you, Edith," Matthew said, standing up and kissing her cheek.

"You're lucky I was on the way here anyway," Edith said, kissing him back. "Otherwise I would have told you to put her in a cab."

"I would have just walked," Sybil said, getting up and kissing Matthew. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll call a cab later," he assured her. "I'm going to Maxims this afternoon and I left the car back at the hotel."

Edith and Sybil bid him goodbye and left the restaurant. Matthew sat back down and took out his phone, scanning over his emails while he ate his chips.

 **Terrace Suite, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Paris, France, November 2015**

Anna blinked her eyes several times, lifting her head from the pillow and looking curiously at the empty side next to her. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she smiled at Alex sitting over in the living room reading a book.

"About time you woke up," he said, putting the book down and coming into the bedroom. "I thought you were going to sleep the rest of the night away."

"Mmm, what time is it?" she asked, smiling as he leaned over and kissed her lightly. "Did I miss dinner?"

"We're on vacation, love," he laughed. "Dinner is whenever we want it to be. It's just past nine. Get ready and I'll take you to this lovely bistro that I heard about."

"How do you know about all of these places? You said you'd never been here before," she said, smirking as she got up out of bed.

"It's called research. You didn't think I would leave all the decisions to you, did you?" he answered, reaching out and swatting her bottom lightly as she passed by him.

She laughed and made her way to the bathroom. Before she reached it, the phone on the nightstand next to her rang.

Alex frowned and shrugged at her as she looked at him in confusion. Who would be calling them at their hotel suite? He nodded to her and she went over and picked up the phone.

"Hello? Yes, this is Miss Smith…" she said, glancing over at the large windows of the bedroom. He wandered out onto the terrace and looked out into the distance while he waited for her to finish.

"What? We need to stay in our room? But why?" she asked the front desk clerk.

"Anna," he called from the terrace, his eyes focused on something to the East of the hotel. "Hang up the phone."

"Yes…I understand," she said quickly to the clerk. "Goodbye."

"What is it?" she asked as she came out to the terrace and looked at him worriedly.

"Something's wrong," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders when she reached him. Sirens blared below them and she blinked as what seemed like dozens of police cars raced down the streets around the hotel, all headed East.

"There seems to be a lot of police out tonight," she noted. "What do you think that's about?"

"I'm not sure, but nothing ordinary, not with this much activity," he replied, looking intently across the rooftops below to Place Vendome just Northeast of them.

"The front desk said we should stay indoors," she muttered, glancing across the night sky with concern. "Some kind of police investigation, she said."

He took out his mobile and steered her around and back towards the bedroom. "Come on, let's go back inside."

She frowned and tightened her grip around his waist as he brought her back inside and closed and locked the doors behind them. She went over and turned on the television as he pulled the curtains closed.

 **Bitexco Financial Tower, 38** **th** **Floor, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, November 2015**

"Take that, you bastards!" Rose cackled, raising her hands in victory and jumping up from her chair. She did a little dance and took a sip of Red Bull before sitting back down again and reaching for her keyboard.

"Erm…Lady Rose," Jack called, knocking lightly on her open door.

"Yes, Mr. Ross?" she said lightly, staring at her computer screens.

"Pardon me, but if you could refrain from calling the rest of us 'bastards' so gleefully, then that would be better for employee morale, I think," he teased, coming into her office. "It's close to 4am and the lads have been at it for a while. We do appreciate you letting us play online, but I don't think they were prepared for you being quite so enthusiastic about it."

"Tell the men that if they don't like losing to their boss, then don't do such a shit job of defending their nexus," she replied, smirking at him as he came around her desk and kissed her lightly. "And as for you, I gave you the chance to be on my team and you declined, so I suppose that makes you a loser as well."

"Well, I couldn't just take your side so easily," he retorted, straightening back up. "I already take enough stick as it is for being the boss woman's lackey."

"Is that what they call you?" she asked, smiling up at him. "I think I like the sound of that."

"You would," he said knowingly, shaking his head at her.

"Oh, lighten up, Jack," she teased. "Being my lackey has its benefits, doesn't it?"

"I may need to be reminded," he replied.

"Cheeky," she grinned. "Go and close the door and perhaps…"

They were interrupted by the loud blare of her mobile.

"Fucking hell," he sighed, stepping back and heading for the door.

"That's Matthew," she frowned, reaching over and grabbing her headset as she sat up. It was just past 10 in the evening in London. Matthew usually didn't call so late unless it was urgent. "What's the status on the system?" she asked Jack.

"Everything is functioning properly," he replied, looking at his mobile. "I'll go and check on things from my desk."

"Matthew?" she asked, taking the call. "What's wrong?"

"We've got a situation in Paris," Matthew replied, his tone serious. "Get a hold of the team following Alex and Anna. I want eyes on them now."

Rose blinked in shock, then attacked her keyboard as she brought up multiple browser windows and opened a secure channel to the security team in Paris.

"You'll have it in seconds, Matthew," she said tightly.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2015**

Mary frowned as she watched the television. She bit her fingernails nervously as the news anchor quickly repeated the same bits of information coming in from Paris, constantly adding to the coverage as more fragments of news became known.

' _This is BBC's live coverage of a series of attacks taking place in Paris. Shootings have been reported in the north east of the city, causing casualties…'_

' _At least 18 people have been killed in Paris, French police have told AFP news agency…'_

' _Shooting has also been heard near the Bataclan arts centre with reports of hostages have been taken there…'_

' _French media, quoting Paris source, are now reporting that at least 42 people are dead…'_

She stared at her phone again, shaking her head as yet another attempted call to Anna did not connect. Her pulse raced as she listened to Matthew talking on his mobile across the room. Anna and Alex's hotel was a fair distance from the site of the shootings, but it was late Friday night and surely they had gone out. Ever since hearing the news of the attacks while she and Matthew were out at dinner, she had felt sick. This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime for her friend and assistant – both a long overdue break and a bit of a lovers' retreat – both well deserved. Mary had listened to all of her planning and ideas in the months before they left. She was positively giddy, elated to finally be taking a proper trip abroad, and with Alex no less.

Now Mary just wanted to get them both back home as soon as possible.

"Right, right, I know," Matthew said, his voice heavy with relief. "Of course I wasn't worried about you. Why would I be? It's Mary who wanted me to get in touch, I knew you'd be fine…"

She turned away from the television and looked over at him anxiously.

"Well just get out of the city, if you can," he continued. "The borders will be closed soon enough so I'm afraid you're stuck there for now. If you want to come home, just let me know and we'll send the jet for you. Here, go and get her and I'll pass the phone to Mary…"

Tears filled her eyes and she rushed over to him as he turned and smiled at her, handing his phone over.

"They're all right," he said. "They're at the hotel and security has their floor under watch."

She grabbed the phone from his hands desperately, shutting her eyes in silent gratitude as Anna's voice came over the line.

"Mary? We're all right. We're all right," Anna said, her voice shaking.

"Oh, thank God," Mary gasped. "Are you sure you're safe there? Maybe you should get out of the city. I don't know if they've caught the shooters yet. There's word of a hostage crisis."

"It's all a fair bit away from us," Anna replied. "Alex says we should stay put for now and we have guards outside the suite. We're going to see how things are in the morning. We might head south if we can't come back to London. I don't expect they'll let us leave the country for the next while."

"That's what Matthew said," Mary agreed. "All right, well call me if you need anything, anything at all, no matter what the time is."

"Thanks," Anna said. "I'll call you in the morning."

Mary closed her eyes and sighed wearily as she hung up the call. Matthew took the phone from her and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple and led her over to the sofa, sitting down and holding her close as they watched the news coverage of the Paris attacks.

"I just feel so useless," she whispered after watching the horrible scenes as reporters scrambled to gather details of the shootings. "All of our money and supposed power and we can't bring them home. Who knows what's coming? They could still be in danger."

"I know, darling, I know," he said softly. "They're safe, for now. The guards are with them. They'll be out of Paris by tomorrow. They can't keep the borders closed indefinitely. They'll be home soon enough. You'll see."

 _'The UK Foreign Office has issued a brief statement. They are urgently investigating whether any British nationals are caught up in the attacks and whether there are casualties among…'_

Mary cringed and closed her eyes as she buried her head in Matthew's shoulder.


	34. Chapter 34

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, November 2015**

Mary frowned as she watched the television. She bit her fingernails nervously as the news anchor quickly repeated the same bits of information coming in from Paris, constantly adding to the coverage as more fragments of news became known.

' _This is BBC's live coverage of a series of attacks taking place in Paris. Shootings have been reported in the north east of the city, causing casualties…'_

' _At least 18 people have been killed in Paris, French police have told AFP news agency…'_

' _Shooting has also been heard near the Bataclan arts centre with reports of hostages have been taken there…'_

' _French media, quoting Paris source, are now reporting that at least 42 people are dead…'_

She stared at her phone again, shaking her head as yet another attempted call to Anna did not connect. Her pulse raced as she listened to Matthew talking on his mobile across the room. Anna and Alex's hotel was a fair distance from the site of the shootings, but it was late Friday night and surely they had gone out. Ever since hearing the news of the attacks while she and Matthew were out at dinner, she had felt sick. This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime for her friend and assistant – both a long overdue break and a bit of a lovers' retreat – both well deserved. Mary had listened to all of her planning and ideas in the months before they left. She was positively giddy, elated to finally be taking a proper trip abroad, and with Alex no less.

Now Mary just wanted to get them both back home as soon as possible.

"Right, right, I know," Matthew said, his voice heavy with relief. "Of course I wasn't worried about you. Why would I be? It's Mary who wanted me to get in touch, I knew you'd be fine…"

She turned away from the television and looked over at him anxiously.

"Well just get out of the city, if you can," he continued. "The borders will be closed soon enough so I'm afraid you're stuck there for now. If you want to come home, just let me know and we'll send the jet for you. Here, go and get her and I'll pass the phone to Mary…"

Tears filled her eyes and she rushed over to him as he turned and smiled at her, handing his phone over.

"They're all right," he said. "They're at the hotel and security has their floor under watch."

She grabbed the phone from his hands and spoke desperately into it, shutting her eyes in silent gratitude as Anna's voice came over the line.

"Mary? We're all right. We're all right," Anna said, her voice shaking.

"Oh, thank God," Mary gasped. "Are you sure you're safe there? Maybe you should get out of the city. I don't know if they've caught the shooters yet. There's word of a hostage crisis."

"It's all a fair bit away from us," Anna replied. "Alex says we should stay put for now and we have guards outside the suite. We're going to see how things are in the morning. We might head south if we can't come back to London. I don't expect they'll let us leave the country for the next while."

"That's what Matthew said," Mary agreed. "All right, well call me if you need anything, anything at all, no matter what the time is."

"Thanks," Anna said. "I'll call you in the morning."

Mary closed her eyes and sighed wearily as she hung up the call. Matthew took the phone from her and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple and led her over to the sofa, sitting down and holding her close as they watched the news coverage of the Paris attacks.

"I just feel so useless," she whispered after watching the horrible scenes as reporters scrambled to gather details of the shootings. "All of our money and supposed power and we can't bring them home. Who knows what's coming? They could still be in danger."

"I know, darling, I know," he said softly. "They're safe, for now. The guards are with them. They'll be out of Paris by tomorrow. They can't keep the borders closed indefinitely. They'll be home soon enough. You'll see."

 _'The UK Foreign Office has issued a brief statement. They are urgently investigating whether any British nationals are caught up in the attacks and whether there are any casualties among…'_

Mary cringed and closed her eyes as she buried her head in Matthew's shoulder.

 **Chapter 34:**

 **Rented Home, Rue Roger Salengro, Tours, France, December 2015**

Anna walked down the narrow side street, cradling her bag of purchases against her chest. The air was actually a bit warmer here than in Paris, and the sun was shining overhead in a cloudless sky. She couldn't help but smile to a few of the locals as they walked past her, feeling a bit like a local herself, rather than just a tourist.

Reaching the double doors of their rented home, she turned the key quickly and stepped inside the foyer, closing the door behind her. She put down her bag and removed her coat and boots, smiling to herself as she set them aside in what had become 'her' side of the closet. She couldn't stop smiling as she carried her bag into the kitchen.

"Did you get it?" Alex asked, his bare back to her as he stood over the stove.

"Baked fresh this morning, of course," she replied, setting her bag down on the counter. "I bought two."

Putting down his wooden spoon in the skillet, he went over and removed two baguettes from the bag and brought one of them to his nose, closing his eyes and smiling as he wafted in the pleasant scent.

"Lovely," he declared, setting them aside, then taking the bag to the fridge and unpacking the vegetables.

She took over finishing the omelette he'd started on the stove, expertly managing the eggs and adding the herbs and cut ham at the precise moment before they set.

"You bought macarons," he said accusingly, placing the small bag of pastries on the counter next to her as he came up behind her. "Again."

"I also bought you a chocolate croissant," she retorted, turning her head and kissing him lightly. "Again."

"Very well," he gave up, hugging her from behind and holding her as she transferred the omelette on to a plate. "You're forgiven."

"I didn't think I needed your forgiveness, or your permission," she said saucily, spinning out of his hold and bringing the plate to the dining room.

He rolled his eyes, then went about quickly cutting the bread and making the coffee as she came back in and fetched the orange juice and milk from the fridge. By the time they sat down to breakfast, the sun was streaming in through the large windows facing the backyard, bathing the old wooden table and vase of fresh flowers in light.

"This is very nice," she noted, savouring a forkful of eggs.

"Thank you," he smiled, spreading strawberry jam on his bread. "I used milk instead of cream this time."

"I wasn't talking about the omelette, which I actually made, thank you," she said, smirking at him. "I meant this…having a leisurely breakfast, you still in your pyjamas, it's all quite nice."

She smiled, casting a glance over his bare chest and arms. He'd at least shaved and cleaned up his face and hair a bit so he wasn't completely disheveled, but it was rather funny to see him in lounge pants and barefoot in the morning, with not a care in the world.

Since leaving Paris after the attacks, they had decided to stay in France, despite numerous protests from Mary and Anna's Mum. The rest of November had been a bit of a whirlwind. They had found nearly empty castles and museums, candlelight vigils and moments of silence throughout their travels. The first few days had felt rather numb and surreal, being on vacation but not enjoying it fully. Anna swayed back and forth between returning home and going on with their itinerary numerous times, feeling sorry that Alex was gamely trying to lift her spirits, and feeling some obligation that she should continue on with what they had planned. By the time they reached Provence at the end of the month, she was feeling better, the warmer weather and the delightful markets improving her mood.

The more time they spent in France, the more comfortable she felt. They left the luxury hotels behind in favour of rented apartments, still going out for wonderful dinners but cooking for themselves more and more as well. They developed little rituals, such as fresh baguettes and macarons in the mornings, walking along riverbanks and parks in the afternoons, and sharing a local bottle of wine in the evening with dinner before making love late at night. Her French had improved considerably with increased use, to the point that she was far braver speaking it to the merchants and tour guides than when they first landed in Paris. His accent still sounded better, but she was quite proud that she could make a go of the language. They even spoke French to each other off and on each day.

It was all rather utopian and idyllic, despite the horrors they had experienced in Paris. It was also more to her temperament. The five-star hotels and high fashion boutiques were incredible, but she enjoyed this lifestyle better – just the two of them living in a townhouse, getting by as thought they'd been living here for years.

"It is nice," he agreed, biting into his bread. "I quite like it. I think it suits us."

She sipped her café au lait, another new ritual they'd developed, and looked out the window. The home came with a small heated pool, though they hadn't tried it yet. He bought her a bikini when they spent a few days in the balmy South, and though normally she wouldn't even think of taking a swim with the neighbours so close, these days she was open to anything it seemed.

"I agree," she said, grinning as she resumed eating her breakfast.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, December 2015**

"The appeal hearing is before a panel of three judges of the appeal court," Matthew said, looking at the slide on the television screen on the wall. "There is a Chief Justice, being the judge who generally oversees the hearing and writes the decision, and two other judges who ask questions and confer. Any of the judges can dissent, obviously majority decision rules."

"And who are our judges?" Mary asked, looking at the screen carefully.

"We don't know that yet," he replied. "They haven't been assigned."

"Well why ever not?" she asked, frowning at him. "The hearing is just over a week away."

"Murray says they generally don't release that information until the day before the hearing. The hearing date they give us is a floating date and is subject to the availability of judges," he explained patiently.

"So there's a chance we won't be heard at all? Well that's lovely," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Quite," he said, sighing as he turned back to the screen and pressed the remote to move to the next slide.

Since being informed that they had a prospective hearing date, Mary had thrown herself back into preparing for the appeal hearing and Matthew was brought along, at first to help act as a buffer between her and Murray, and more recently to answer her questions so that the lawyer could actually get on with the job of getting ready to argue the appeal. It had been years since Matthew had taken his Civil Procedure course at Cambridge, and that was but a rudimentary introductory level class in any event, but he quickly re-educated himself, lest Mary inundate poor Murray with her endless questions.

First, she wanted to know what the appeal procedure was, then the timelines required for each step. Now that they were about to go to Court, she wanted to know the process, what would happen and how the hearing would play out. It got to the point where Matthew considered taking her down to the Strand to watch an actual appeal hearing for herself. He quickly cast aside that idea though. It would likely lead to even more questions.

"You have to remember that because it's Phil's appeal, it's up to his lawyer to argue the matter, to lead," he continued, bringing up a slide showing the order that submissions were made at an appeal hearing. "In theory, if they don't satisfy the panel of judges that the appeal has merit, then the appeal may dismissed without Murray having to say a word."

"As if we would be that lucky," she sneered, shaking her head.

He looked up at the ceiling and silently prayed for strength.

"Unlike the hearing before Justice Mitting, the appeal court is usually far more proactive," he went on. "They usually will ask many questions and steer the submissions in the direction that they want. Most of the time, they already have an idea of which way they are leaning before the hearing even begins, since they've read all the materials and the High Court decision. It's a more interactive hearing than what we saw before."

"God, I hope that Murray is ready for this," she said, rubbing her temple. "Thinking on his feet is not one of his strong suits."

"Thankfully, he only needs to respond to what Phil's lawyer puts forward, and they can't raise anything new that wasn't brought up at the first hearing," he said encouragingly. "It's mostly a repetition of the arguments from before, the only difference being that Phil's lawyer needs to show why Justice Mitting got it wrong, and why."

"I thought all of this was behind us, and here it is rearing its ugly head again," she said, shaking her head.

"What came of the settlement discussions?" he asked, coming back over and sitting down next to her at the conference table.

"Nothing," she spat. "Phil wants all of his winnings back and was prepared to forego his legal costs. That's not even an offer at all."

"Did you counter?" he asked.

"I told Murray I was prepared to go up to £4 million with each side paying its own legals and a full confidentiality agreement," she said. "Obviously we're still millions apart. Considering that right now he's at zero and actually owes us for legal costs awarded against him from the first hearing, I'd say I'm being quite generous. He doesn't agree."

"Have you spoken to him?" he asked.

"No, why would I?" she said. "It won't do any good. He's too stubborn and proud. He thinks if he loses to us, it means he's a cheater, and his reputation can't take that. Plus he's got this other lawsuit going on back in the States, so he can't be seen to lose to us. The appeal is going ahead. Nothing can stop that."

"Then you should make sure that Murray puts in a firm offer then," he said.

"Why bother? We're almost to the hearing now. Phil won't accept," she replied.

"Exactly. If he doesn't beat your offer on appeal, that is, if his appeal is dismissed, then there are additional costs that can be awarded to Crockfords if we put in a formal offer to settle and it isn't accepted," he said, picking up his tablet. He opened a browser and brought up the relevant webpage after a few moments. "Part 36, subparagraph (3), 'the court must, unless it considers unjust to do so, order that the defendant,' or in our case, respondent, 'is entitled to costs from the date which the relevant period expired, and interest on those costs."

"Ask Murray," she said tiredly. "I recall he did ask for my permission to submit an offer in writing months ago, but I don't recall him mentioning Part 36 of anything."

He watched as she took a sip of water and frowned down at her tablet computer. Mary always looked sophisticated and professional, but the appeal was wearing her out as of late. She wasn't sleeping nearly as well as she normally did, often waking up in the middle of the night to look something up on her tablet or, worse, to wake him up to ask him a question. She had been distracted like this during the trial as well, but not nearly to the same degree. Having to manage the role of President and all it involved added an additional layer of stress.

"Lady Mary, excuse me," an assistant called, knocking on the glass door.

"Yes?" Mary answered blandly, looking up at her.

"It's a Mr. Talbot on the phone for you, about next week's party for Citibank?" the assistant said.

Matthew frowned at the mention of Henry's name.

"I'll take it in my office, thanks," Mary ordered, rising from her chair. Matthew got up as well, watching her with concern. She walked over to the door, then paused and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Why don't you ring Murray and ask him about the offer to settle business?" she suggested. "I'll be back once I'm done with Henry."

"Of course," he nodded. "I'll be here."

She gave him a wan smile, then followed the assistant out the door and down the hallway to her office.

Matthew sighed and sat back down. He took out his mobile and scrolled down to the Crawley Group lawyer's number.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Millbank, London, England, December 2015**

The agent sipped his coffee, walking along the line of cubicles, then turning and heading back to his own workstation. He cast a furtive glance over at the rookie's desk as he went by, admiring his square shoulders and cropped haircut. He smiled to himself and made a note to invite the rookie for lunch tomorrow.

"You look right buggered," he said, sitting down and looking over at his mate staring blankly at his computer monitors. "What are you on? It's practically the holidays."

"What else? Task list from Mr. Blake," the other agent explained, shaking his head derisively.

"Why the fuck are you still doing shit for him?" he asked, sipping his coffee. "I thought he'd be parading Sir Richard Carlisle around like a prize pony and taking all of next year off."

"There's been no actual finding against him, yet," the other agent said. "The lawyers have been going at it since we caught him in August. There's always talk of a deal, but nothing firm yet. Besides, I'm not dealing with that file, at least not exactly."

"What else has Blake got you doing, then?" the agent enquired. "He's been obsessed with that file for ages."

"He still is. He's got me going over the guest list, seeing what we know on everyone who was at that party," the other agent stated.

"He doesn't think Carlisle was the only cheat in the place, hey?" the agent laughed.

"Something like that," the other agent confirmed. "But with Carlisle we at least had an informant telling us where to look. With the rest of this lot, we're flying blind."

"Combing through the lives of the rich," the agent scoffed, turning back to his own monitors. "It's good work, if you can get it."

"If you say so," the other agent muttered, moving his mouse and scrolling through his latest search. A photograph came across his screen of a tall man with blond hair and blue eyes dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, with a thin woman with pale skin and brown hair, wearing a striking red dress at his side.

 **London Heliport, Battersea, London, England, December 2015**

"All of that work, all of that preparation, for what?" Mary complained, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked out the car window. "They couldn't find judges for us. I can't fucking believe it!"

"Don't worry, you'll get your day in Court," Matthew said patiently, taking Vauxhall Bridge over the River Thames. "It just won't be until April now, rather than tomorrow."

"I cleared my entire schedule, even Friday and Saturday," she whinged. "I've been worrying myself sick over this, and now we aren't even going to Court!"

"It isn't as if all of it will be in vain. We'll make use of it, just not for a few months is all," he said, turning on to the A3205 road and accelerating past a slower car.

"I suppose," she said wearily, looking out at the row houses around them. She frowned suddenly and looked more closely at their surroundings.

"Hang on," she said, glancing over at him. "This isn't the way to the hotel. We're in Battersea."

"Yes, we are," he replied, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead on the road.

"And why are we in Battersea, Matthew?" she asked pointedly as he weaved around slower moving traffic. The road was really designed for single file traffic, but in the afternoon there weren't many parked cars so he could maneuver the GT-R a bit more.

"You'll see," he answered, a coy smile crossing his lips.

"This had better not be a trip to some hole-in-the-wall pub that you heard about," she grumbled, looking back out her side window.

"It's not," he assured her.

She remained quiet for another three minutes, closely watching as they passed some eclectic looking establishments with names such as 'The Lost Angel' and 'The Lighthouse'. She breathed a sigh of relief when they didn't pull over at any of these places, but that only made her more perplexed as to what they were doing in South London in the middle of the day.

"I hate surprises," she mumbled finally.

"You hate not knowing what's coming, not being in control," he replied.

"So tell me what's going on," she demanded as he turned past a Land Rover dealership and on to a narrow road. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see," he said firmly. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?" she asked in exasperation.

"Here we are," he said, pulling over to the kerb in front of a modern glass building.

A valet came over and opened her car door for her, and Mary slowly got out, frowning as she looked around to get her bearings.

"Lady Mary," the valet said politely, touching the brim of his cap. "Right this way, please."

She glanced around and saw another valet removing some luggage from the boot of the car, while Matthew walked around to her side.

"Darling, after you," he said, motioning for her to follow the valet.

They walked into the building and upon entering, she realized where they were.

"London Heliport," she said, reading the large sign on the wall behind the check-in desk. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see," he said, grinning now at her confusion.

"This is abduction, you know," she said pointedly, arching her eyebrow at him. "Whisking me away somewhere without my knowledge, or consent. You're either abducting your girlfriend, or your boss, or both."

"Then break up with me, or fire me, or both," he countered, taking her hand and squeezing it, then leaning in and kissing her cheek playfully.

"Don't think I won't, on either front," she said, rolling her eyes. "How long will we be gone for, wherever it is we're going?"

"Overnight," he stated. "And perhaps another night after that."

"Hence the luggage, which I expect includes my clothes and toiletries?" she asked.

"Could be," he smiled. "Though where we're going I'm sure you'll make do."

She huffed and shook her head.

"Lady Mary, Mr. Crawley," a bubbly clerk said pleasantly. "Right this way, please. Your helicopter is ready and your luggage is loaded. You're all set."

"Thank you," he said cheerfully, tugging on Mary's hand. "Let's go, darling."

She took a deep breath and went along with him, frowning as they went outside and headed over to the sleek helicopter parked in front of them.

 **Rented House, Rue Roger Salengro, Tours, France, December 2015**

Anna carefully applied her lipstick, finally putting it away when she was satisfied with the colour and gloss. "I imagine Mary must be incensed," she said idly. "As much as she wasn't looking forward to going through the appeal hearing, waiting until April will be even worse."

"Hopefully it means that she can relax a bit and focus on her work, among other things," Alex replied from the bedroom, adjusting his cufflinks. "I know December is a busy month but she should try and relax with one less thing to worry about for now."

"I doubt she'll see it that way," she shrugged, coming out from the bathroom. "There's a bunch of private parties next week, starting with Citibank. She'll already be on to those."

"Well, perhaps not right away," he replied, smiling at her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Matthew may have an idea or two on how to get Lady Mary to take a bit of a break," he said.

"Really? What's he up to?" she asked.

"None of your business," he replied. "You look gorgeous."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at his compliment. "You're not looking so shabby yourself."

"I try," he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the bedroom. "I hope you're not disappointed that we're having a fancy meal for our last night here. I know how much you've enjoyed playing at being locals these past few weeks."

"I'm happy to go out. It means I don't have to cook," she smiled as they took the stairs down to the foyer. She slipped into her heels as he got her coat from the closet and held it open for her. "Where are we going?"

"This place called La Roche Le Roy," he said, holding the door open for her. "It's highly recommended on TripAdvisor."

"Sounds good," she nodded, taking his hand as he walked her the short distance to the waiting taxi at the kerb.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2015**

The flight was actually quite pleasant, Mary had to admit. With just the two of them, the helicopter cabin was quite spacious, and even came with a minibar. Matthew had promptly poured them two flutes of champagne after takeoff, and she grudgingly accepted hers, even lifting her glass when he made a toast to 'new adventures'. She took a bit of satisfaction in his discomfort when she replied 'and maybe our last one together, if you aren't careful.'

They first made a quick circuit of the City, and though Mary had grown used to the panoramic view from the Shangri-La, touring London by helicopter was quite fun. She played along as they flew past Parliament, Buckingham Palace, a few of the Olympic venues and football stadiums before turning North. She lost her bearings once they reached the countryside. She knew they were still heading North, but eventually one village or town resembled another and the vast empty fields began to all look the same.

After the first hour in flight, she relaxed and put her head on his shoulder, snuggling against him and dropping her annoyance to have a pleasant conversation. She did appreciate his effort, and knew he was doing it to give her a bit of a break from work. Between the transition to President, the appeal preparations and the holiday season, she was genuinely knackered, and the truth was that she wasn't going to slow down until someone forced her to. With Sybil and Edith busy with their own lives and Anna away in France, the only person left to take charge of her was Matthew, and he had patiently put up with her busy schedule and rather ornery moods for the past few months. She was expecting a quiet night in to recover her strength, but he obviously had other ideas. She was intrigued, even if it was frustrating that he hadn't consulted her at all.

"At least tell me what you have planned for us whenever we get to our destination," she said, in a more conciliatory tone. "I should be entitled to know that much, shouldn't I?"

"I have nothing planned at all," he said easily. "We can do whatever you wish, outside of turning around and going back to London right away."

"What if I want to go shopping without you?" she teased.

"You're free to do that," he said. "Though there may be a lack of high fashion boutiques like you're used to."

"Oh God, you're taking me to Manchester, aren't you?" she groaned dramatically.

"No, no I'm not taking you to Manchester," he laughed. "And I resent the implication. You know perfectly well that Manchester has a Selfridges with all the designer labels that you love."

"I suppose it does," she said. "They probably send all of the previous season's clothes left over from London up there."

"You're hilarious, you know that?" he said sarcastically, pinching her thigh as she laughed at him.

"Preparing for landing, Mr. Crawley, Lady Mary," the pilot called over the loudspeaker.

"Well that was disappointingly quick," Matthew said, smiling at Mary. "I was hoping you would take care of me the way you did on the way to Abu Dhabi."

"In your dreams," she huffed, sitting up straight. "I'm still angry with you over not…"

Her voice caught as she looked out the window. The helicopter touched down just beside a familiar large house, now lit up in the early evening darkness.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"It's not a bad spot to spend a few days," he joked. "I've heard that the owners are away on a cruise, so we can have the run of the place."

She laughed incredulously, looking at him in wonder, then turning around and staring as three figures came forward, ducking low and opening her door.

"My Lady," Carson greeted her, bowing his head respectfully despite his crouched stance.

"Carson," she said warmly, taking his hand and stepping out of the helicopter. He walked her briskly away from the spinning blades before they finally stood up straight.

"So, you've conspired against me with Mr. Crawley, have you?" she said mischievously.

"My loyalty remains to my Lady, rest assured," Carson said formally. "In this case, however, I do agree with Mr. Crawley. A brief stay here will do you good, I expect."

She laughed as they made their way up to the house. Matthew trailed behind, coming up with the footmen carrying their luggage. He could only smile ruefully at Mary's change in demeanor upon arriving at her family home. Still, this was what he wanted – for her to lighten up a bit – and so be it if Carson was the recipient of her cheerfulness.

Mary's laughter could be heard on the cold air as they reached the front doors and the warm lights of the Great Hall. Matthew smiled as he came inside, the last of his surprises waiting for them.

"Granny! Isobel!" Mary exclaimed, stepping forward and hugging her grandmother unabashedly. "Goodness, how many people were a part of this scheme?"

"We're the last of them," Violet nodded. "I ordered Sybil and Edith to come up for the weekend, but they both said that you would be far more relaxed without them here, for some reason."

"They're probably not wrong," Mary chuckled, smiling at Isobel.

"We're only here for dinner," Isobel assured her, squeezing Mary's offered hand. "Your Granny and I are taking a trip of our own this weekend, actually."

"To somewhere much warmer," Violet said.

"Your luggage will be brought up to your room, my Lady, and dinner will be served when you are ready," Carson announced.

"Then let's go through," Mary said, nodding as she turned towards the parlour. "Oh, and Carson, please have a room in the Bachelor's Wing made up for Mr. Crawley."

Matthew blinked in surprise.

"Very good, my Lady," Carson nodded, turning to the footmen to give them instructions.

"Where are you off to? I'm intrigued," Mary said, walking with her Granny and Isobel into the next room.

Matthew shook his head and sighed, watching the footmen bring his luggage upstairs separately from Mary's. He finally shrugged helplessly and went through to dinner with the ladies.

 **La Roche Le Roy Restaurant, Tours, France, December 2015**

"Soufflé chaud à l'orange avec Grand Marnier," the waiter said, placing the dessert in front of them. "Bon appétit."

"God, I'm stuffed," Anna laughed, shaking her head at the fluffy, golden brown topping that seemed to float above the white ramekin.

"Come on, give it a try," Alex said, taking a spoonful and lifting it towards her. "You'll love it. It's light, besides."

She smiled and took a bite, humming in delight at the sweet taste.

"That's very good, and very strong," she smiled, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Most of the alcohol is burned off in the baking, love," he chuckled, savouring a spoonful of his own.

"Most, not all, and it isn't as though it's flambéed, so there's still plenty left," she noted. "I believe you have less than pure intentions towards me, Mr. Lewis."

"You can count on it," he said, smirking as he took another spoonful.

"You shouldn't be so confident," she said, reaching out and snatching the spoon from him and bringing it to her lips. "I never said that my intentions were pure either."

"That's quite shocking, coming from you especially," he smirked, watching as she tasted the soufflé, then licked her lips and handed the spoon back to him.

"I've done a number of shocking things on this trip," she said unashamedly, smiling at him across the table.

"And when we return to London next week, will we return to who we were before?" he asked, reaching over and taking her hand. "Was this all a fantasy?"

"We won't be sleeping in every morning and having meals in our pyjamas, if that's what you mean," she said. "As for the rest of it, well, we'll just have to see. Spending every moment together, living together in the same home, that's rather ambitious, don't you think? I expect you'd get bored of me."

"No, never," he said firmly, catching the waiter's attention and gesturing with his hand for the bill.

She smiled and finished what was left of her wine.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2015**

Matthew sipped his brandy, looking out the window at the grounds lightly dusted with snow. Mary was sitting regally on the settee across the room, laughing and chatting away with Violet and Isobel and drinking sherry. Since he had driven her straight to the heliport from Crockfords, they were both still wearing their business attire, which was perfectly suitable for dinner. It also suited Mary's purpose to go straight through to dinner following their arrival – not having to change meant she could continue to ignore him.

It was actually quite impressive how she could be pleasant and polite, bantering happily with Violet and Isobel while saying not a word to him. He had stayed on the periphery of the conversation throughout the meal and after when they came through. Truthfully, he wasn't very interested in the latest goings-on in the Village, or politics at the local hospital, which was all that Violet seemed to be talking about tonight. His ears perked up a little bit when the latest word from Robert and Cora was brought up, but it was more of what he already knew – they were enjoying themselves immensely, were now heading through Japan, and had already made dozens of new friends. He tried to get his mother's attention from time to time, but she would just smile at him and nod in acknowledgment of his presence, then continue on with her conversation.

After going through, he started off seated next to Mary, but soon after drinks were served, he retreated off on his own, finding nothing to contribute to the discussion. He was now waiting patiently for Violet or Mother to say they were tired and would be going back to Dower House. Then he would finally be alone with Mary.

"Well, I'm exhausted, I'm afraid," someone declared. "I believe I'll go up."

Matthew turned around and frowned at the sight of Mary rising from the settee and bidding goodnight to her Granny and Isobel.

He downed the rest of his drink quickly, grimacing at the kick and burn as it went down his throat. Setting the glass down and blinking several times, he made his way towards the door.

"Matthew," Violet called. "Come over here and fill us in on what you've been up to in London. We haven't had a proper chat all night."

Matthew looked at the Dowager Countess in confusion, then glanced over at Mary's smiling face as she walked right past him without a word.

Giving Violet and his mother a brave smile, Matthew made his way over and sat down on the chair opposite them. He swallowed and nodded kindly as Carson appeared with a glass of water for him. He didn't need to turn and look at Mary crossing the Great Hall and heading upstairs. It was bound to be the last he saw of her this evening.

"Now," Violet said crisply once their drinks were refreshed. "About this appeal hearing that's been delayed until April…"

* * *

Throughout his life, Matthew had eschewed the use of a valet, at least to assist him with dressing and undressing anyway. When he first started staying over at Downton Abbey as a young boy, he had no use for one, and even as he grew older, he always politely declined whenever Carson offered to have Bates or one of the staff 'take care of him' during his visit. He would consult Bates from time to time on what tie or cuff links to use, or ask him for a quick refresher on proper etiquette prior to one of Cora's fancy dinners or Robert's special events, but when it came time to changing into pyjamas, Matthew was quite happy to fend for himself.

Tonight fending for himself meant going upstairs and wandering the silent halls by himself until he reached his room in the deserted Bachelor's Wing. It was his usual room, the same one he'd used since he was probably ten years old, and even some of his old clothes were hanging in the attached dressing room that led to the ensuite bathroom, but it still felt empty tonight; empty and isolated.

He had hoped they would be sharing her room during their stay, but even now as he prepared for bed on the other side of the house, he still held the constant expectation that Mary would appear eventually, or that she would text him to say he was allowed to come to her room, that he had done sufficient penance for having 'abducted' her. Seeing how the evening played out, he felt his plan had been a smashing success. She was hardly weary or weak tonight. Her face was bright and her smile and laugh genuine. Phil Ivey, Henry Talbot and Citibank were the furthest things from her mind tonight and he was glad for that. He should have known better that she wouldn't just fall at his feet in gratitude though.

He frowned at his reflection as he brushed his teeth, reaching up and flicking a rather annoying lock of hair away from his forehead. He understood Mary's ire, as misplaced as it was. Yes, she didn't like surprises, but it was more that she didn't like others dictating her life to her. Despite all of her accomplishments, she woke up every day thinking that her authority and position were under threat, and it was this sense of danger, imagined most of the time, that drove her in business and in life. It was why she fought for everything she achieved, rather than being lazy and using her family name to lead a privileged life of leisure. The last thing she wanted to be known for was being Robert Crawley's eldest daughter.

But was it so abhorrent to be known as Matthew Crawley's girlfriend? That role didn't have to conflict with all the other positions and titles that she held.

He spat into the sink and turned the taps, cleaning his toothbrush and rinsing his mouth. Of course he could have told Mary in advance that they would be spending the weekend at Downton, but he liked surprising her, and she, of all people, could appreciate the thrill of a well-executed scheme. He had originally planned all of this for tomorrow, planning on flying them out as soon as the appeal hearing was done. When Murray told them that the hearing was adjourned to the New Year, he had made a few quick phone calls and moved the itinerary up. He thought he was rather clever for pulling it off on such short notice, actually.

Sighing to himself, he shuffled out of the large bathroom and walked back through the dressing room to his bedroom. He'd give Mary a token apology in the morning. Surely she couldn't hold a grudge for the entire weekend? There was no one else here besides the two of them, Carson and a few servants. She couldn't avoid him for the next four days.

He snorted as he reached his bedroom. Who was he kidding? He was at Downton Abbey – Mary's home ground. She could probably take her meals in another wing of the house and he would never be able to find her.

"I was beginning to think I might need to ring for one of the footmen to go and find you," Mary said as he came into the room and froze at the sound of her voice. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight of her lying languidly in bed.

In his bed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, swallowing and coming around to his side of the bed. "I wasn't expecting you, so I took my time in the bathroom."

"That's all right," she said, smiling up at him as he removed his robe. "You're here now."

He stared at her bare shoulders as he slipped under the duvet, settling down an arm's length away from her.

"You said that you were exhausted," he stated.

"I was, yes," she nodded. "I rested a bit while you were entertaining Granny and your mother."

"I see," he mumbled, trying to keep his eyes on hers despite his mind wondering desperately what she was wearing under the duvet.

"A funny thing though," she said casually. "I laid down for a bit, then went to go change out of my dress, and as I was unpacking my bag, I found a particular outfit that I'd never seen before."

"You did?" he asked dumbly, blinking as he watched her.

"A rather lacy one," she said, arching her eyebrow.

"I see," he muttered.

"Seeing as you packed my bag for me, I can only assume that you bought this outfit for me to wear this weekend. Am I correct?" she asked.

"Erm…yes," he replied. "That was…the idea, anyway."

"Ah," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, will this do?"

She swept the duvet away, revealing the black lingerie he'd bought for her.

He gulped audibly, his eyes raking down her body and back up to her eyes.

"Definitely," he croaked. "You look beautiful."

"Do you know, I've never actually spent the night in this Wing of the house?" she said, shifting over towards him and pulling the duvet down and away from his body. "This is the same room that you always stayed in, isn't it?"

"Yes," he nodded, turning on to his back as she moved to his side.

"And when we were teenagers, and you had your fantasies about me, did you ever picture me coming to you here, at night?" she asked, sweeping a long stockinged leg across his thighs and straddling him.

"Yes," he rasped, his hips moving against her as his hands slid up her thighs to take hold of her waist.

"You imagined me sneaking into your room, into your bed?" she whispered sultrily, leaning down and kissing his cheek.

"Yes," he said in a clearer tone, his hands moving around to grasp her bottom.

"I'm sorry for seeming ungrateful and getting into a bit of a snit earlier," she admitted, kissing his neck, then moving to his shoulder, her silk-covered breasts brushing against his bare skin. "And I'm sorry for playing with you tonight. It wasn't entirely because I'm cruel, you know."

"Yes, I know. It's fine," he said, his voice growing stronger, his hands now fondling her brazenly.

"I'm still annoyed that you didn't tell me about all of this in the first place. I do hate to appear foolish, you know," she said, kissing his shoulder and grinding against him slightly. "So I decided to give you a little bit of a test."

"A test?" he asked, blinking as she continued to kiss her way along his neck and face.

"Yes, a test," she said, smiling against his skin. "I chose to ignore you, and waited to see if you would wallow, or sulk, and how long it would take you to demand that I pay attention to you, or for you to call me out for being childish and immature. Certainly you would have been justified to scold me at some point."

"Perhaps," he said carefully.

"As usual, though, you didn't just pass the test, you absolutely nailed it," she laughed. "You can be rather infuriating that way, you know."

"I…I did?" he asked, his one hand now moving up and down her back while the other continued to cup her arse.

"You did," she nodded, kissing his lips lightly. "Any other man would have tried to put me in my place, to remind me that he was the boss, or do some other ridiculously chauvinistic display to satisfy his own ego. You just let me have my fun, and refused to be drawn, or to take the bait. You truly did plan this entire trip for me, and you wouldn't do anything to ruin it for me, even if you were perfectly entitled to do so, given my behaviour."

"Well, I probably would have caught a beating from your Granny and my Mother if I tried anything tonight," he said, smiling up at her. "And we both know how effective it is to try and tell Lady Mary Crawley what to do, don't we?"

"You do, yes," she laughed, kissing him again. "You know me so well, know exactly what I need, even before I even know it myself sometimes. You could have taken me anywhere. We could have stayed at your hotel. Instead, you brought me here. This house hasn't been very kind to you. I haven't been very kind to you here. And yet this was the place you chose to bring me, with no thought of yourself, all because you knew it was where I needed to go."

She could feel tears welling in her eyes and she shut her eyelids and shook her head, smiling at him when she composed herself again.

"I love you, Matthew," she said softly.

"I love you too," he said, grinning up at her. He pulled her down and kissed her firmly. She slid her tongue against his and pressed herself to him, enjoying the feel and taste of him for several moments before she lifted back up.

"So, for putting up with me over the past few frantic months, and for putting up with whatever nonsense will come in the future, and for being so gallant, and caring, and patient, I have a prize for you, two actually," she explained.

"I quite like the sound of this," he smiled devilishly, his arousal stirring noticeably underneath her.

"First, since the appeal hearing was delayed, I am prepared to concede that you were right. We can go away, after I'm finished with next week's duties. You decide where we're going and I will follow. No complaints or objections," she declared.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what the second prize is after how unbelievable the first one sounds," he commented.

She laughed and leaned closer to him.

"You're actually in the process of getting your second prize right now," she said, kissing him again. "In addition to the lovely walks that we'll take, and the wonderful meals that we'll have here, tonight, and every night of our stay, I will do everything and anything you desire."

He gasped as she continued to lightly kiss his face and lips.

"You can fuck me here in your bed, just like you've always dreamed of," she whispered, licking his ear. "You can have me in the shower of my bathroom, late at night in your sanctuary in the library, anywhere you wish."

He could only groan in reply as his hips thrust against her.

"Would you like a private tour of the attics or perhaps you'd like to show me the billiards table in the games room?" she asked lightly, kissing him deeply again.

"Won't that be considered rather inappropriate?" he managed between kisses.

"Very inappropriate," she agreed as his hands moved up and undid the clasps of her bustier. "Almost as inappropriate as the other naughty outfits that I found in my luggage, which I'll be wearing for you."

"Oh God, Mary," he moaned, lowering his head to kiss her breasts.

She played her fingers through his hair and sighed as he pleasured her. Easing him back down to the bed, she smiled at him wickedly before kissing a trail down his chest, sliding his pyjamas and pants down and off of him. Her eyes met his as she sat between his legs, stroking him several times before taking him into her mouth. He cried out at the sensation, his hand moving down to tangle in her hair. He grit his teeth to quiet himself as the sight and sound of her attending to him threatened to undo him already.

"It's just you and me here, darling," she whispered, kissing his length. "We can be as loud as we want to be."

He grunted loudly as she went back down on him, his mind reeling from her words and her touch. After several more moments, he pulled her back up and turned her over on to her back, removing her panties quickly, leaving her stockings on. She moaned as he caressed her centre, then slid a finger inside of her. Kissing her roughly, he increased the pace of his hand, holding her close as heat spread through both of them.

She arched her back and turned into him as he added a second finger. Her release was fast approaching, and he pressed on her firmly to send her flying, her arms holding on to him tight as he sent her over, her cries stifled by his mouth. He slowed his motions to allow her to come back down, kissing her soothingly before removing his hand.

"Mary," he said, kissing her again and gently pulling her back on to his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder, kissing his skin as his hand reached over to the nightstand and fumbled around inside the drawer.

"Fucking hell," he grunted, glaring at the nightstand as he tried to search with his left hand.

"Here, let me," she said playfully, moving over and looking into the drawer. She grinned as she found the box he had been fighting with, opening it and taking out the much sought after plastic wrapper.

She came back to him, kissing him deeply and finding her previous position resting on top of him. She was too weak to sit up, so she rested her head on his chest, opening the wrapper and moving her hand down to slide the condom over him snugly. They groaned together as she stroked and teased him with her hand, then he breathed out her name as she shifted her hips and guided him into her.

They soon found a hard rhythm, every moan and whimper from her lips making him more and more delirious. He knew he wouldn't last very long, but the thought was neither embarrassing, nor discomforting. They had the entire weekend ahead of them, and numerous ideas of what he wanted them to do next filled his addled mind.

She moaned his name, kissing his neck, his cheek, his lips as her hips rose and fell faster and faster. He tightened his grip on her, his arms wrapped across her back, holding her chest against his as he thrust with deeper and deeper strokes.

She pressed her lips to his neck one final time as he yelled out and pushed up as hard as he could. They remained locked together as he let go, and moments later when they both calmed down, he rolled them over and carefully withdrew.

"You need another shower, it seems," she chuckled, snuggling against him.

"You may be right," he said weakly.

"Race you to the bathroom?" she teased, sitting up and arching her eyebrow at him. "Or are you too tired?"

He smirked as he took in her mussed hair, her dark eyes, her swollen lips, her flushed skin and her bare breasts.

"I'll carry you," he challenged, getting up and out of bed.

She smiled as he came around and picked her up, then giggled as he carried her naked over to the bathroom.


	35. Chapter 35

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2015**

They soon found a hard rhythm, every moan and whimper from her lips making him more and more delirious. He knew he wouldn't last very long, but the thought was neither embarrassing, nor discomforting. They had the entire weekend ahead of them, and numerous ideas of what he wanted to do next filled his addled mind.

She moaned his name, kissing his neck, his cheek, his lips as her hips rose and fell faster and faster. He tightened his grip on her, his arms wrapped across her back, holding her chest against his as he thrust with deeper and deeper strokes.

She pressed her lips to his neck one final time as he yelled out and pushed up as hard as he could. They remained locked together as he let go, and moments later when they both calmed down, he rolled them over and carefully withdrew.

"You need another shower, it seems," she chuckled, snuggling against him.

"You may be right," he said weakly.

"Race you to the bathroom?" she teased, sitting up and arching her eyebrow at him. "Or are you too tired?"

He smirked as he took in her mussed hair, her dark eyes, her swollen lips, her flushed skin and her bare breasts.

"I'll carry you," he challenged, getting up and out of bed.

She smiled as he came around and picked her up, then giggled as he carried her naked over to the bathroom.

 **Chapter 35:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, December 2015**

Anna sighed as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She turned left and right, the beaded fringe of her dress flying about. She bit her bottom lip nervously, looking up and down her figure, not entirely pleased with what she saw.

She was startled by a knock at the door.

"Come in," she replied, still looking at the mirror.

"Are you all right? Lady Mary's worried you might be late," Alex asked, poking his head in the washroom.

"Yeah, I'm ready," she said disinterestedly. She picked up the long silk blue gloves from the counter and pulled them on as she turned towards him.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked in amusement, stepping inside the washroom and closing the door behind him. Rather than send everyone off to the hairdressers, Lady Mary had a team of staff come into the office to dress and style the ladies for the Citibank party tonight. Normally an afternoon of manicures, makeup and hair would have Anna all excited, but instead she had been quite reserved throughout the day. As Alex looked at her curiously, she seemed as though she would prefer to be anywhere but here.

"Nothing, it's nothing," she shrugged.

"Love," Alex said, stopping her from walking past him. He gently lifted her chin with his fingers so she would look at him in the eyes. "What is it? Please, just tell me."

"Oh, you'll think I'm being stupid," she groaned, shaking her head and turning back to the mirror. She held her arms out at her sides and frowned at her reflection. "It's just this whole 1920s theme for the party! I don't have the body to pull off this dress. These flapper outfits are supposed to be sexy and playful and on me it just hangs like a fucking bin bag!"

Alex smirked at her, shaking his head in bewilderment. He stepped up behind her, his hands going to her hips, his eyes catching her frown in the mirror's reflection.

"You've either gone completely mental, or you're deliberately fishing for compliments now," he said smoothly, kissing her cheek, mindful not to disturb her hair, which had been carefully styled into waves and adorned with a diamond barrette and blue headband that matched her dress. "You look absolutely gorgeous, and this dress looks hot on you."

"Shut your face," she grumbled, not moving out of his hold. "My shoulders aren't square enough and my boobs aren't big enough for this dress."

"Really? Let me see," he said, running his hands along her bare shoulders and pulling at the straps.

"Stop it!" she admonished him, slapping his hand. "This is not time to cop a feel! I look hideous!"

"Then take it off," he said cheekily, dropping his hands back to her hips. "Just who are you trying to impress tonight anyway that has you so worried about how you look? This is a work function, need I remind you? We only need to look the part. There's no awards for best costume, you know."

"Easy for you to say, you always look good in suits, even vintage ones from the 1920s," she said plainly.

"And you, love, always look incredible in skirts that show off your gorgeous legs, just like this one," he replied, grinning as his hand moved down and grazed her bare thigh.

"You're just saying that because you're my boyfriend," she grumbled.

"Fine, let me show you how much I like you in this dress," he said, kissing her cheek once more. He took her wrist and pulled it behind her.

"Alex!" she yelped, though she did nothing to move her hand away from him. "Right here, in the office washroom?" she teased, unable to stop herself from smirking as she caught him leering at her in the mirror.

"We could go back to your office and use your chair if you like," he said. "It proved quite sturdy last time."

"Everyone's still in the boardroom," she noted, smiling genuinely as she turned around and came into his embrace. "I don't think we would have much privacy."

"Very well," he sighed dramatically, leaning down and kissing her softly. "We'll just have to find a dark corner somewhere later tonight."

"It's a date," she chuckled, kissing him again. "Thanks, babes. We've just gone to so much trouble with the decorating and getting outfits for all the staff and the rest of it. I just want tonight to go well, for Mary."

"Trust me, it'll be a smashing success," he assured her. "Nothing excites bankers more than to dress up and play gangster with gorgeous women and free drinks all around."

She grinned up at him. "And is it the same for you? Do you fancy yourself Al Capone, with your expensive suit and fedora?"

"No, hats never look good on me," he replied. "I don't mind the part about having a gorgeous woman on my arm, though."

"Mmm," she sighed, hugging him, careful not to leave her makeup on his suit. "Was it really just last week that we were still in France? It seems like months ago now."

"It's still quite fresh in my mind, actually," he chuckled. "And don't worry, love. In just a couple more weeks, we'll be in Brighton for Christmas!"

"You're such a loser," she said, grinning at him, then leaning up to kiss him. "I think Mum has a crush on you. She was all excited when I talked to her. 'Is Alex coming? What does he like to eat?' God, she was bursting."

"I told you, mums love me," he said.

"I love you," she said pointedly. "Mum can go and find herself someone her age. You're all mine."

He laughed and kissed her deeply.

"Anna Smith, you're rather bold," he joked.

"You love it," she smirked. "Let's go. The sooner we get downstairs and take care of our assignments, the sooner we can find that dark corner you were talking about."

Alex kept his arm around her lithe waist, the thin silk of the dress giving him a new appreciation for the 1920s. He reached for the door and pulled it open, only for them to come face-to-face with a startled William.

"Erm…Mr. Crawley wanted me to come find the two of you," William muttered.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason," Alex said, guiding Anna past the poor boy. "We're heading downstairs now."

* * *

When Mary first heard from Henry that Citibank wanted a 1920s theme for their annual party at Crockfords, she thought it was a fun and creative idea. They could serve drinks from the time period, have the staff dress up as flappers, serving girls and waiters from the era, and obviously the casino was already decorated accordingly, with its bright chandeliers, brass and metal railings and leather and marble throughout. It would be the easiest thing to turn the place into an approximation of a speakeasy or upper class jazz club. Mary also had numerous ideas for her own outfit. She loved the vintage look of the 1920s, when hemlines came up and dresses had intricate beadwork and accents.

Matthew wasn't nearly as enthusiastic. Truthfully he wouldn't have been enthusiastic over anything having to do with the Citibank party, but the 1920s theme didn't help. He knew very well just how overboard Henry would go in choosing his outfit and the effect it would have on his behaviour. Henry would come in wearing a tuxedo, black and white wingtips, a scarf of some sort and a fedora and act like he owned the place. He was bound to be at Mary's side all evening. Even she thought it would be insufferable, which meant it would make Matthew see red.

Mary turned her head and adjusted the gold coloured headband around her hair. She had found her dress in the attics at Grantham House, surprisingly, remembering it from when she was younger. It had belonged to a great aunt, or someone, and was absolutely beautiful. Rather than being a flapper dress with the usual low cut neck and beaded fringe, it was actually a sleek green dress with a halter-style neck, and gold floral embroidery from the collar down to the hem which stopped at her knees. It showed off her bare shoulders and back, and hugged her body in all the right places. She complimented it with gold jewellery, headband, and silk gloves. She felt quite regal in it, actually, less of a flapper or moll and more of a femme fatale, a boss of her own.

Smiling at her appearance, she turned and headed towards the elevator. She could deal with Matthew and his bruised ego later. Her rich and prestigious guests were already arriving and it was time for the show to begin.

* * *

Matthew finished his drink and nodded to the bartender. He turned away from the bar and took in the view. Many of the guests were already well into their second drink and crowding around the various gaming tables. Usually the junior associates would arrive first and get right into it, with the senior executives arriving last. The evening was meant to not only celebrate the bank, but also to allow the employees to enjoy themselves and blow off steam. The juniors were the ones who predictably had the most pent up stress that needed relief.

The casino staff circulated about, refilling drinks and distributing player cards, the servers laughing and smiling on cue, their slinky mini-dresses and feathers in their sparkly headbands drawing more than an occasional leer. To a novice, such behaviour seemed entirely natural and genuine. Matthew saw it differently, recognizing the practised skill involved, the lure and bait offered by the women, leading to bigger tips and reckless bets from customers futilely trying to impress them. It was all part of the experience of coming here, an elaborate dance that Mary had choreographed and perfected over the years and drilled into everyone who worked here. Gratification. Give them the appearance that they can have anything they want, and they'll spend and spend and spend.

He frowned as he surveyed the scene. Another successful Citibank party was in its beginning stages. The night would be a very profitable one for Crawley Group, and Mary would win raves from Henry and his cronies yet again. Matthew didn't mind overly much, and didn't have many objections to these private events. He wasn't even against the idea that Mary was handpicked by Citibank to host them. For how much they were paying, the bank was entitled to bespoke service.

Rather, he wondered to himself how many more of these private parties he could reasonably stand. He could easily continue on for years more, keep raking in the profits and supporting Mary in her long terms plans for the company. The work wasn't particularly difficult, it just required vigilance and careful planning. Whether it was his websites or the casinos, there would always be gamblers and the potential to make money from them. Job security wasn't a concern for him.

But making money wasn't his highest ambition. He never lacked for anything growing up, and the pursuit of money was entirely irrelevant now. He could take off an entire year or more and still be the same multi-millionaire he was now. He had come to London at Robert's request to save Patrick's division, and for his own selfish reasons – to get close to Mary, to try and finally win her regard – and he had succeeded on all counts beyond his wildest dreams. Though it wasn't Matthew's preference that it had happened so fast, and at the cost of his relationship with Robert, he had helped Mary to the President's chair, and his work, for all intents and purposes was complete.

"Mr. Crawley, sir," William called, coming up to his side.

"Yes, Mr. Mason?" Matthew replied, turning and looking at the young man.

"Mr. Talbot and the senior staff are just pulling up to the kerb, sir," William said. "And Lady Mary is on her way down."

"Thank you, Mr. Mason. I'll go and see him," Matthew said curtly. He reached over to the bar and picked up his cane, a vintage piece he had found at Downton Abbey after Mary told him about Citibank wanting a 1920s themed party. The cane was solid ebony hardwood, polished to a brilliant shine, and topped by a round sterling silver head. He twirled the cane in his right hand and made his way towards the lobby.

* * *

"Good evening, Mr. Talbot. Welcome back to Crockfords. Wonderful to see you again."

Henry got up out of the limo. He touched the brim of his fedora and did not make eye contact with the valet or the doorman. Jazz music was playing as he walked into the lobby, his long coat flowing as he went. There was a photo area set up near the elevators, with paparazzi stationed nearby to take everyone's pictures. This event was a charity fundraiser, among other things, and it was good publicity for the bank to have coverage in the papers.

Henry took off his coat, hat, and scarf and handed them to the valet. He waited for the other executives to come in before heading over to the photo area and posing for several shots. He smirked as he looked into the cameras. All that was missing to complete this moment for him was Mary.

He turned his head as he heard the chime of the elevator. His smirk turned to a toothy smile as Mary stepped out of the elevator and came into the lobby. Her green and gold dress seemed to shimmer under the lights, and he loved the elegant gold headband and gloves she wore with it. As she approached him, his eyes moved down her body and back up to her dark brown eyes. She would look incredible at his side, he thought.

"James, Alastair, Henry," Mary greeted them, smiling and nodding as she went through the group, making eye contact and addressing each of them by name. "Welcome."

"Mary," Henry replied, taking her gloved hand and bringing it up to his lips. "You look even more radiant than usual. The period seems to agree with you."

"Thank you," she answered. "And do you fancy yourself a gangster, or a hitman?"

"A gangster," he said, smiling at her.

"The big boss of London?" she teased.

"Nothing happens in this town without me knowing about it, my dear," he said, looking at her intently.

"Lady Mary! This way, please! Lady Mary!" the photographers called.

Mary turned and smiled politely as the flashbulbs went off before her. She felt Henry's hand slide across her back, and she kept facing forward, smiling for the cameras amidst the shouts of the paparazzi for her to turn this way and that.

Henry smiled smugly. Even though there were ten of them standing together in a group before the cameras, it was easy enough for him to imagine it was he and Mary standing together, the centre of attention, being treated as a celebrity couple. What a sight they must make, he thought, as his hand moved up to the bare skin of her back. He always knew Mary was beautiful and smart, an accomplished hostess and socialite. The recent announcement of her taking over as President of Crawley Group was surprising to him, just as it was to most of the London financial world, but he wasn't troubled or threatened by it. In a way, it made Mary even more attractive to him. To have such a powerful woman at his side would only enhance his own image. Not only would he be complimented for her beauty and her aristocratic lineage, but now also her corporate position and reputation. Yes, they made a splendid pair.

Matthew heard the commotion before he reached the foyer. The photographers invited to the event only wanted shots of the Citibank executives, so the area was usually rather quiet during the arrivals of everyone else. It was also a normal part of these events that Mary's entrance was followed closely. She was the face of their brand, particularly now that she was President. He knew that Henry would waste no time in soaking up the attention either.

Arriving on the scene, he stood off to the side with Alex and Anna and watched on as the photographers snapped numerous photos of the Citibank executives gathered around Mary. Matthew had got a glimpse of her outfit before, but seeing her under the bright lights now, he had to smile at how beautiful she looked. His smile lessened significantly when he saw Henry was standing next to her, the arrogant smirk that Matthew knew well plastered across his face.

"Let's have a bit of a silly shot for the company website, yeah?" one of the executives suggested.

The others quickly agreed and the paparazzi continued to shoot.

"Come here, Mary," Henry said, moving his one arm around her waist and deftly scooping her up off the floor, his other arm sliding under her legs.

Mary gasped in surprise, her arms going around his neck to balance herself. She swallowed and recovered as the other executives made funny faces and mugged away. Smiling once more, she relaxed in Henry's hold as much as she could and tried to look calm.

Matthew grit his teeth behind his pursed lips.

Eventually Henry set her back down and the group broke away. The paparazzi began packing up their equipment as Henry guided Mary towards the casino floor with a hand on her back. As they turned away from the front entrance, Matthew stepped forward.

Mary blinked upon seeing him.

"Matthew, there you are," Henry said cheerfully, extending his free hand to him and keeping his other on Mary's back. "Good to see you, old boy."

"Henry," Matthew said tightly, keeping his eyes on Mary's for a moment before looking at Henry and shaking the man's hand. "Welcome. Nice suit."

"Thank you, thank you," Henry beamed. "I was going to scour some of those shops for a vintage tux, but in the end I just told my tailor to put something together. I rather like the look actually. Mobsters knew how to dress back then."

"Indeed," Matthew noted, glancing at Mary again before focusing back on Henry. "I'm surprised you didn't bring a fake Tommy gun along with you for special effect."

"I considered it, but thought better of it," Henry laughed, looking at Mary, who smiled and nodded along. "Anyway, no one here would mistake me for anyone other than the man in charge, so carrying around a gun isn't necessary."

"Well," Matthew said, stepping aside and gesturing with his arm. "Go on in and enjoy yourself."

"I always do," Henry said, nudging Mary forward. "We'll catch up later, Matthew."

"Yes, we will," Matthew answered, watching them go.

Anna exchanged a nervous look with Alex and turned to follow Mary's group into the casino.

"All right, you win," Alex said quietly, coming to Matthew's side. "He really is an annoying wanker."

Matthew snorted derisively.

"Let's go," he said finally, nodding towards the casino floor. "We have guests to take care of."

Alex sighed and followed his boss into the casino.

* * *

Two hours into the party and Mary was pleasantly buzzed and happy. Henry's antics in front of the photographers were annoying, but not unexpected. He always followed her around at these things, or rather insisted that she stay at his side for most of the time. Given that Henry usually attracted all of the Citibank bosses as well, it was in Mary's interest to remain close to him. She soon settled into her familiar role of laughing and joking with the men as they drank and gambled, and her well-practiced coquettish laugh was back in fine form.

She freely admitted that she enjoyed the superficial and vacuous element of these events. She had been attending Society parties since she was five years old, and performing for the bankers was no different. There was a thrill to having so many rich and powerful men hanging on her every word. Now that she was President of Crawley Group, she felt their presence here was an endorsement of her as an executive in a way. Good looking women could be found anywhere, and men like these grew bored of them quickly. To have Henry and his mob come back to her time and again, trying to impress her, was an ego-boosting shot of power.

"Another round?" Henry asked, smiling at her as he looked up from his cards.

"Why not? I'll buy this one," she said, garnering laughter from the table.

"Something tells me that I'll end up paying for it in the end," he said, and Mary laughed along with him as she turned away and nodded for the servers to come forward to refill everyone's drinks.

"So, is the Presidency agreeing with you?" he asked, idly playing with his chips.

"It's been a rather frenetic transition, but that was to be expected," she said easily. "Thankfully the performance of the company has only gotten better, which is of course what one hopes for."

"I'm hardly surprised," he said smoothly. "I was actually hoping you would show me the expansion later on."

"Certainly," she agreed as the servers finished passing out fresh drinks to the table.

"To tonight, then," Henry said, smiling at her as he lifted his glass of Scotch.

"To tonight," she echoed, clinking her glass of vodka against his and taking a sip.

* * *

"Mr. Crawley, sir," a hostess said as she came running up to Matthew and Alex.

"Yes?" Matthew asked.

"They've asked for you at the roulette tables, sir," the hostess advised. "They're rather adamant that you join them."

"Who?" Alex asked.

"Yes, who?" Matthew repeated, equally confused. Who would deliberately ask for him? He didn't know anyone beyond their names, except for Henry.

"Erm, it's Ms. Bennett, sir," the hostess explained. "She has a group of…friends…that she's been gambling with and they all asked for you to come over and see them."

"Ms. Bennett…" Matthew said, frowning at Alex as he tried to match the name to a face. "I don't believe I've ever even been introduced to her."

"I have no idea who that is," Alex said, shaking his head.

"Well, she didn't ask for you by name, sir," the hostess mumbled, swallowing nervously. "She told me to go find 'that hot blond man with the blue eyes and the…erm…cute bum' sir."

Alex chuckled and looked at Matthew.

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"I'll be right there," he told the hostess, who hurried off.

"Good thing you've got that cane. You may need it to defend yourself," Alex joked, laughing again.

"I need a drink," Matthew muttered.

* * *

"Rather shocking what happened to Sir Richard Carlisle," Henry noted as he and Mary walked down the long hallway towards the observation area of the casino expansion. The hall was deserted, the din of the guests and the music ringing out behind them.

"It was, yes," Mary said, sipping her drink. "Though I expect the government must have some rather damning evidence against him to arrest him."

"Even if they don't, the damage has been done," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "All of the other media outlets have had a field day with the story. They're still covering it now, months after the fact."

"Well, if anyone expects to see him in jail, they shouldn't hold their breath," she said easily. "He'll pay the tax arrears and settle on a penalty and that will be that, I expect."

"Your parents must not have been pleased to have the authorities interrupt their party," he stated. "It must not have been very enjoyable for you, either."

"It wasn't ideal, no," she replied. "But it isn't as though we did anything wrong."

"No, of course you didn't," he said as they reached the observation area.

He looked up at the glass ceiling and down at the vast space.

"Very impressive," he said, nodding his head. "It looks almost complete."

"Soon," she said, smiling as she looked over the site. "We're aiming for a soft opening around Lunar New Year, with a grand opening in the Spring."

"Lunar New Year…is that Chinese New Year?" he asked, smirking at her.

"Not all cultures that celebrate are Chinese, Henry," she said, looking at him amusedly.

"I wasn't aware you were an expert," he laughed.

"One must know one's market. Our Vietnamese customers would be rather insulted if we were to wish them a Happy Chinese New Year, don't you think?" she asked.

"You don't miss a thing, do you, Mary?" he said, shaking his head and smiling at her.

"Very few things, anyway," she said.

"Well, I think you're doing a brilliant job so far," he said. "I can imagine it must have been rather hard to push all of this through. Patrick used to tell me that your father was not overly progressive."

"No, he isn't," she agreed. "But I wasn't entirely on my own. Matthew helped."

"Ah, and how is Mr. Crawley? Is he good to you?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Very good."

"If you say so," he replied lightly. "But if I ever find out that he's not, he'll have me to deal with."

"Yes, that should keep him in line," she laughed. "He probably wouldn't mind taking a swing at you, actually."

"The feeling is mutual," he said, nodding and laughing. "But then again, when it comes to you, I don't particularly care what he thinks."

She arched her eyebrow at his comment, then looked back at the expansion space and took another sip of her drink.

* * *

Matthew smiled as Dolores Bennett and her group of equally drunk women all cackled with glee. The croupier distributed the chips and the ladies all placed their bets. Matthew signaled for a server to come over and refresh everyone's drinks, which led to another bout of laughter and clapping as the women made their orders.

Dolores was a Vice-President with Citibank, and was the highest ranking person at the table. When Matthew arrived, she explained to him that they had organized a women's group at the office in the past year. The ladies got together a couple of times a month to learn about and try their hand at different casino games. Roulette was by far their favourite.

Matthew initially thought that he could smile and hug his way around the table and conveniently disappear after wishing the ladies luck. He was corrected by Dolores quite quickly when she ordered him to stand behind her 'for good luck'. Over the course of the past hour, Matthew had learned that Dolores' other 'good luck' rituals included having him blow on the chips before she placed her bet, sharing drinks with her and the ladies, and, though she didn't say so specifically, apparently letting her pinch his arse from time to time.

Any excuse he could conjure to leave evaporated when, rather stupidly, he made the mistake of telling her his birthday, which promptly led to all of the ladies betting the number on the board, and shockingly, winning. Despite his meek protests, Dolores was convinced that Matthew was a harbinger of good fortune for the group, which was why he was still here almost two hours later and Alex had long ago abandoned him.

"We'll need to organize a ladies' night here quite soon!" Dolores exclaimed, clapping as her number hit again.

"I'm sure that Mary would love to have you come by," Matthew replied politely.

"Well, we can't come here without our good luck charm!" another woman piped up, which led to enthusiastic agreement from the rest of them.

"How…nice," he said, struggling to keep his smile on straight.

* * *

"And the Lady has 21," the dealer announced, sweeping his hand across Mary's cards and placing her winnings in front of her.

Mary laughed and clapped her hands as the men around her cheered for her and their own wins as well. Conveniently, the tables and games were not nearly as tight and difficult compared to normal evenings at Crockfords. While it wasn't deliberately made easy for everyone, there were enough big wins to keep the spirited mood going.

"Erm…Mary," Anna whispered, touching her shoulder lightly.

"Yes, what is it?" Mary asked cheerfully, turning to look at her assistant.

"You might want to circle the floor," Anna suggested politely. "Check in on some of the others."

Anna warily glanced at Henry, trying to keep her voice down so as not to draw anyone's attention.

"The others?" Mary asked, looking at her curiously. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no, not at all," Anna shook her head.

"Well, I'll make the rounds in a while then, I'm on a bit of a lucky streak at the moment!" Mary said, grinning smugly. "If anything comes up, just go and have Matthew deal with it."

Anna smiled tightly, pausing as one of the bankers made a toast.

"It may be Mr. Crawley that needs your help, Mary," Anna said quietly, touching Mary's shoulder again.

Mary blinked and frowned at her. She turned in her seat and looked out across the casino floor, her eyes widening in surprise as she found Matthew surrounded by women at a roulette table. The ladies were fawning all over him, Dolores Bennett was practically draped on him.

"Are you in on this hand, Mary?" Henry asked from her other side.

Mary turned around and smiled easily.

"Of course," she said. "Why don't we raise the stakes a bit?"

The men laughed in agreement.

"I'll see whatever you've got, Mary," Henry declared, sipping his drink.

* * *

Matthew thought he was finally granted a reprieve when Dolores Bennett declared that their group was done with roulette, only to discover that meant she wanted to move on to play craps. Accompanying the ladies to the table, he waited patiently as the croupiers answered all of their questions and even allowed them a few practice throws to better understand what was going on. Throughout the exercise, Matthew kept expecting one of the other bankers to come over and check in on them. The evening was not only about gambling, but socializing as well, and yet the women were largely left alone. The only interruptions were by the servers bringing drinks and hors d'oeuvres over. Matthew caught more than a few amused glances from the staff as they realized his plight and did nothing at all to assist him.

"So, Matthew, sweetheart, how is business?" Dolores asked, sipping her drink as another woman played with the dice.

"Good, thanks," he replied. "This was actually one of our best years. We didn't see any drop off due to currency rate fluctuations and the expansion is almost set to open in a few months."

"I noticed the signs, yes," Dolores nodded. "Quite bold to undertake such a big project in today's economy."

"Well, it was Mary's idea, her pet project, really," he said, somewhat proudly. "We think it will make Crockfords a bit of a destination in the City."

"Very nice," Dolores said, smiling at him. "And once that's open, what's next for you?"

"We'll see," he replied. "I've got a few ideas."

"Well, if you ever need capital, let me know," she said, eyeing him meaningfully. "I would love to do some business with you."

The rest of the women cheered and laughed, some as a result of the game, others in response to Dolores' suggestion.

"I'll keep that in mind," Matthew said carefully.

 **Maxim's Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, December 2015**

"Thank you for suggesting this, Charles," Tony said, arranging his stacks of chips as the dealer passed out the cards. "It's been a while since I last played."

"Well, I thought it was time we went out again," Charles replied. "Although I'm surprised we're not at Crockfords."

"There's a private event going on there this evening," Tony said. "Besides, I don't know how welcome I would be there at the moment. Mary and I did not part on good terms the last time we saw each other."

"She can't be angry with you over what happened at the Season party still, can she?" Charles asked. "She doesn't know your full involvement, does she?"

"She knows I had something to do with it," Tony sighed. "And she isn't entirely certain of my motives."

"Well, you hardly had a choice, given the situation your father was in," Charles remarked. "You did the right thing, Tony. Eventually, she'll see that."

"Time will tell," Tony said, glancing at his cards.

"Don't worry about it, my friend," Charles said confidently, placing his bet. "Next time we'll go to Crockfords and see Lady Mary. You'll be back in her good books soon enough."

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, December 2015**

"Good night, Mr. Lewis, Anna," William said, nodding to them as he headed for the exit.

"Good night," Anna answered, leaning against Alex as they walked off the casino floor. "God, tonight seemed like it would never end."

"Well, technically it's the morning, now, love," Alex chuckled, his arm around her shoulders. "But you're right. Returning to the 1920s seems to have made everyone a bit more rowdy compared to last year."

"Poor Mr. Crawley," she laughed. "I thought he would never be free of those women."

"He still spent two hours too long with them, I bet," he agreed. "I'm surprised that Lady Mary allowed it to happen, but then again she was rather preoccupied herself."

"I told her about it, but she didn't seem overly bothered," she noted.

"Anyway, let's get home," he said. "I need to get out of this suit."

"You know, babes," she whispered, looking up at him playfully. "Mary and Mr. Crawley have left, and now so has William."

"Yes, which only leaves us and the cleaning staff probably," he said.

"Exactly," she said, smiling at him. "My office is empty. In fact, that entire floor is most likely deserted."

He blinked in realization and looked over at her cautiously.

"Are you saying you…forgot something upstairs, love?" he asked.

"I did, now that you mention it," she nodded. "Would you like to come up and help me look for it?"

"Very much, yes," he stammered.

She laughed as she took his hand and led him to the elevator.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, December 2015**

Matthew stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, concentrating as he flossed his teeth. He frowned as he moved his fingers back and forth, leaning forward for a better look.

"Dolores Bennett seemed rather taken with you tonight," Mary noted, rubbing cream on her bare legs as she sat on the edge of the bathtub. "She wouldn't let you out of her grasp."

"She was just having a good time," he replied, discarding the floss and picking up a cup of mouthwash. "Apparently she has a group of co-workers who she gets together with to play casino games. I just happened to be in the vicinity, is all."

"Strange, I was told that she specifically asked for you," she replied easily. She stood up and turned towards him, smiling at his bare back. "The blond with the blue eyes and cute bum, wasn't it?"

He rolled his eyes as she came up behind him and pinched his ass through the thin cotton of his pyjamas.

"Something like that," he grumbled.

"Did you get a chance to catch up with Henry at all?" she asked, circling his waist with her arms and hugging him from behind. "He went looking for you at one point."

"No, I didn't have the pleasure," he replied evenly. "He must have seen me with Dolores and decided to go back to you."

She laughed and kissed the back of his neck.

"What's so funny?" he asked, turning around to face her.

"You are," she said mischievously, moving her hands up his chest and resting them on his shoulders.

"Me? How so?" he asked, frowning at her.

"You're funny when you're jealous," she stated.

"Jealous?" he sputtered, his hands moving down to her waist, holding on to the silk of her robe. "I'm hardly jealous."

"Darling, it's quite all right, you know. I won't think any less of you," she smirked.

"You won't think any less of me for what? For being jealous? I'm not," he said.

"You weren't just a little bit jealous of Henry?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"Why the hell would I be jealous of Henry, of all people? He's got a mind-numbingly boring job, horrible taste in cars and is entirely full of himself," he growled. "Not to mention his team is shit."

"Hmm…what do you really think of him, darling?" she chuckled.

"I will never have cause to be jealous of Henry Talbot, I assure you," he grumbled.

"Not generally, no, but tonight you were. You were jealous of Henry, and of his boss, and of his boss' boss, and of any man who I spent time with," she declared.

"That's your job. You may be the only President who also serves as a hostess, but there's no reason for me to be jealous," he noted.

"Of course there isn't, which is why you find it so maddening that seeing me laugh with them, or seeing them put their arms around my waist makes your blood boil," she said confidently.

"That's not true," he said petulantly. "I thought Henry was rather out of line when he picked you up in front of the photographers, but you obviously didn't mind, so why should I care?"

She laughed, caressing his cheek with her hand.

"It doesn't make you weak, Matthew, to be annoyed by it. It doesn't make you ugly just because you don't like other men to touch me, to touch your woman, and it doesn't make you wrong to think of me as yours," she said patiently.

"I don't…" he began, then paused, looking down and sighing in exasperation. "I don't think of you that way. That would be petty of me."

"Yes, petty and juvenile, and immature, and hilariously normal. Finally, proof that the perfect Matthew Crawley can be just as possessive and primitive as any man," she said, smiling cheerfully.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," he frowned.

"I do. I'm enjoying it immensely," she laughed.

He huffed and released her, leaving the bathroom.

"Oh, come on, darling," she laughed, chasing after him. She caught him near the bed and pushed him down, following on top of him to sit in his lap. She smiled at him, playing her fingers through his hair, which eased his pique by a small degree.

"Do you know why I seem to enjoy myself so much at these parties? Do you know why I'm not bothered when these stupid drunkards get too close, or act too friendly?" she asked him.

"It's part of your job," he muttered.

"Yes, but you think I enjoy the attention, that I'm asking for it, in a way, that I encourage it," she suggested.

"No, I don't!" he said firmly. "You could do nothing at all and men would still flock to you."

"Probably," she agreed. "But it's all harmless, and I don't put any value in it, but not because it's my duty, and not because it's the job. I don't care about it, Matthew. It doesn't mean anything to me, because I know that at the end of the night, I get to go home with you."

He blinked and met her gaze guardedly.

"I can put up with these foolish boys as long as I have to, because I have a real man waiting for me," she teased.

He swallowed as she leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

"I know that you trust me, and even though you find nights such as this to be quite a bother, I know that you're there for me, that you'll keep me safe, and that you won't let anything get out of hand. And I know that despite how furious all of it may make you, that you know it means nothing in the end, and you won't let it come between us," she continued.

"Of course I wouldn't," he said softly. "I'm more secure than that."

"Yes, you are," she said. "Though it is nice to see you a bit put off by it, still."

He rolled his eyes.

"And you're not the only one who can be petty and jealous, you know," she said. "When I saw Dolores Bennett drooling all over you, I almost went over there to tear that bitch's hair out. She and her gaggle spent more time staring at your arse and other parts of you than they did gambling tonight, it seemed."

"Lady Mary Crawley, jealous? Impossible," he said, smiling for the first time in hours it seemed.

"Irrational, yes, and unreasonable, most likely, but not impossible. It's entirely understandable that women want you, and of course I would be jealous. You're mine and no one else's," she said pointedly.

"How delightfully possessive of you," he said, kissing her.

"It wasn't easy to remain composed," she said, shifting in his lap. "I don't like women looking at you. I kept glancing over throughout the evening to check on you, actually, which I'm sure perturbed Henry."

"I did the same," he chuckled. "Whenever he saw me watching, he would try to draw a laugh out of you or touch you in some way. The idiot."

"I noticed," she laughed. "Which is why I began dropping your name more often as the night went on."

They both laughed and kissed again.

"I don't…I don't mean to behave as though you're somehow my property, Mary. I would never…" he said.

"Shh, I told you, it's all right," she said. "If such behaviour became a regular part of your character, then yes, I would be quite offended, and even angry. I know how to take care of myself and I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions. However, in this particular instance, I quite liked it. Obviously everyone knows that we're together, but it's nice, every once in a while, to know that you consider me yours, and that you don't want anyone else to look at me."

He smiled at her, in a mix of relief and arousal.

"Now, where are you taking me on this getaway that you have planned for us?" she asked.

"You'll find out this weekend. Pack light," he replied cheekily.

"And the weather?" she asked.

"Hot. Delightfully hot. Bring a bikini, several in fact," he smirked.

"I'm allowed to pack my own?" she joked. "I thought you would have bought some balls of string instead."

"Now there's an idea," he smiled, kissing her and sliding his tongue past her lips.

"I'm still prepared to honour our bet, you know," she said, closing her eyes as he kissed the sensitive spot under her ear, then along her neck, his hands sliding between them to pull the tie of her robe loose.

"What bet is that?" he asked, pulling part of her robe to the side so he could kiss her bare shoulder.

"Mmm, that you get to decide where we're going, and that I won't complain or object, to anything," she said as one of his hands settled on her breast.

"Oh, yes, that…" he said thickly, kissing her neck again.

"I'll do whatever you tell me to, Matthew," she whispered sultrily in his ear.

He pulled back and looked up at her with dark eyes. "Will you really?" he asked.

She smirked and nodded. "Anything you want," she said, arching her eyebrow.

"Well, then let's consider ourselves on vacation," he said, reaching up and sliding her robe off her shoulders and down her arms.

Mary laughed huskily as he turned her over on to her back and opened the rest of her robe.


	36. Chapter 36

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, December 2015**

"Now, where are you taking me on this getaway that you have planned for us?" she asked.

"You'll find out this weekend. Pack light," he replied cheekily.

"And the weather?" she asked.

"Hot. Delightfully hot. Bring a bikini, several in fact," he smirked.

"I'm allowed to pack my own?" she joked. "I thought you would have bought some balls of string instead."

"Now there's an idea," he smiled, kissing her and sliding his tongue past her lips.

"I'm still prepared to honour our bet, you know," she said, closing her eyes as he kissed the sensitive spot under her ear, then along her neck, his hands sliding between them to pull the tie of her robe loose.

"What bet is that?" he asked, pulling part of her robe to the side so he could kiss her bare shoulder.

"Mmm, that you get to decide where we're going, and that I won't complain or object, to anything," she said as one of his hands settled on her breast.

"Oh, yes, that…" he said thickly, kissing her neck again.

"I'll do whatever you tell me to, Matthew," she whispered, leaning forward to whisper sultrily in his ear.

He pulled back and looked up at her with dark eyes. "Will you really?" he asked.

She smirked and nodded. "Anything you want," she said, arching her eyebrow.

"Well, then let's consider ourselves on vacation," he said, reaching up and sliding her robe off her shoulders and down her arms.

Mary laughed huskily as he turned her over on to her back and opened the rest of her robe.

 **Chapter 36:**

 **Private Penthouse Suite, Crystal Serenity Luxury Cruise Ship, Lautoka, Fiji, December 2015**

"The spa is wonderful," Cora said into the telephone, smiling as she looked out from their private balcony across the crystal blue waters. "We'll be in Australia next week, which I'm looking forward to. Robert has friends in Sydney that we haven't seen in ages."

Robert came out to the balcony and hugged her from behind. He kissed her bare shoulder, then stepped away and took a deep breath of the fresh air. His legs were a bit weak, still tired from the tour of the markets and sugar cane fields where they'd spent most of their day. Life on the cruise was remarkably simple, he had to admit. Their every need was provided for, the luxury service at a level that even Carson would appreciate. He and Cora had traveled to countries they didn't even know existed over the past months. Kiribati. Western Samoa. Vanuatu. He was looking forward to Australia and being somewhere more familiar, but he found he enjoyed these exotic locations far more than expected. Really, the past few months had gone far better than he thought they would before they left London.

"It's really been a lovely adventure," Cora laughed, still talking on the phone. "It's been wonderful and we still have months left. I expect it will be quite nice to come back during the Spring. It'll be as though we skipped the entire English winter."

Robert sighed, then took a sip of water. He frowned slightly, the familiar bitterness of resentment and regret still tugging at him as he turned towards Cora.

"Darling, give him here," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's get this over with."

Cora looked at him pointedly, a slight smirk on her lips.

"All right, I'll give you over to Robert," Cora said into the telephone, still looking at her husband. "We'll speak to you soon. Good luck!"

She handed the phone to her husband. Before she released it to his grip, she leaned in and kissed him quickly.

"Be nice," she said firmly.

"Or what?" he scoffed.

"Or I won't be nice to you when you get off the phone," she said pointedly, arching her eyebrow.

He blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open as she turned and sashayed back into the suite. He swallowed shakily, then took a deep breath before bringing the phone up to his ear.

"Matthew, hello," he said crisply.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, December 2015**

There was probably nothing more unladylike than a hangover. Perhaps certain behaviour was considered worse by comparison – being known as a gossip or a slut, for example – but a hangover encompassed all of that. Proper ladies did not experience hangovers because proper ladies did not drink to excess, or so Society was led to believe. In the sad event that proper ladies did drink too much and did end up with a hangover, or perhaps more accurately, if proper ladies were caught having a hangover, well, then Society would assume they were capable of all manner of depravity – loose tongues and loose morals among them. No, a hangover was the harbinger of all manner of sins, and so if one could not avoid them, then one certainly had to hide them.

Mary blinked her eyes and groaned, her hand coming to her forehead in a desperate attempt to quell the pounding behind her temples. Of course she had drank a lot last night. A Citibank party was never a tame one. However, she did not recall waking up feeling so horribly before.

Matthew was off doing laps in the pool or working out at the gym or something. He had woken up at his usual time and left her sound asleep. He hated waking up early as a general rule, particularly on a Saturday, but this was their last day in London before flying off on their trip and he had an itinerary to keep to, the first item being getting his workout done so he could get on with the rest of his day. He was infuriatingly diligent about such things, Mary had long ago decided.

She turned on to her back and looked up at the ceiling, trying to focus her vision. If she wanted to, she could sleep in until it was literally time to leave for the airport. Matthew would bother her about it, but would pack a few things for her, and she expected she could just buy whatever she needed at whatever destination he was taking her to, besides. It wasn't vital that she wake up. She had nothing planned for today except packing her suitcase. She had already cleared her weekend, turned on her 'out of office' email and voicemail auto-replies, and instructed all of the Crawley Group staff that she wasn't to be disturbed for anything short of the Apocalypse; and even in that case, they were to tell Anna and she would get in touch with her. The way Mary was feeling at the moment, she wasn't going to leave the hotel suite, even if she did have anything to attend to.

It wasn't as though Matthew would begrudge her checking her email or taking calls, or attending to other matters, even while they were on vacation, but she was determined to leave the rest of the world behind and focus on him for the next week. This was their first trip together. She didn't count Abu Dhabi – that as for business. Her promise to him was that they could take a trip, he could plan it, and she wouldn't object to anything. She was determined to fulfill her end of the bargain, especially after last night.

She closed her eyes, the darkness helping to ease her headache a small bit as she recalled all that had happened. There was nothing that she should feel ashamed about. She had hosted Henry and the rest of the Citibank group and it all had been a huge success. Henry had been his usual self – flirting with her, staring at her body, sometimes with very little subtlety, and of course that brazen stunt of picking her up in his arms to pose for the paparazzi. She hadn't invited him to do any of that, or encouraged him, and Matthew understood that. It was just part of her role. Henry was harmless. He was just a bit more forward than most of her admirers, was all. Yes, she could have discouraged him, or told him off, but at best it would have hurt Henry's ego, and at worst, it would have caused a scene in front of some high paying and influential clients. Henry didn't have a chance with her, and Matthew trusted her, so there was no need to be rude. As President of Crawley Group now, she had to be even more concerned with their image and brand. They sold fantasies and excess, and it was her job to emulate that, particularly when hosting a private event for one of the biggest banks in the world.

Sighing resignedly, she opened her eyes and glanced around the bedroom. Yes, being President of Crawley Group apparently required that she ignore her boyfriend to laugh and smile at a host of other men.

With great effort, she rolled over and sat up, managing to get her feet on the carpeted floor as the room spun all around her. She steadied her hands on the mattress and waited for her balance to return to normal, or something close to it. Eventually she was able to stand up, retrieve her robe and make her way to the bathroom.

Red tinged eyes greeted her as she leaned on the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was all over the place, her skin pale and her lips swollen. She ran the water and doused her face several times, soaking a facecloth and scrubbing her skin. After that, she looked alive, at least. As she reached for her toothbrush, her robe parted slightly and she caught sight of a discoloured mark on her bare breast.

Even in her hungover state, she couldn't help but smile wryly and arch her eyebrow at that, closing her robe tight once more. Yes, she had been rather unkind to Matthew last night, but he had taken his reparations from her willing body after they came back to the hotel suite. The love mark on her breast and the soreness between her legs was testament to that. She imagined him getting out of bed earlier and smirking wickedly at the sight of her – lying naked, hair dishevelled, passed out from their lovemaking with his mark upon her.

She closed her eyes and leaned on the marble counter as the throbbing behind her temples returned. It wasn't what she wanted exactly – to barter sex as an apology for her behaviour towards him. This trip was well-timed. With the two of them out of London and alone together, they could settle into their familiar routine without any distractions or interruptions. She knew wherever they went would involve comfortable walks in good weather, swimming, delicious food and delightful conversation. She didn't even need the trip to be anything exciting, just a nice escape for the two of them to spend time together without having to worry about her father, or Crawley Group, the appeal, or threats from their rivals. A chance for her to remind him that she was just as devoted to him as he was to her.

She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth, blinking several times as she reached for a brush and tried to do something with her hair. She smiled as she thought of their trip, her confidence returning. This would be a chance for her to remind him that no matter what her professional image was, the real Mary, his Mary, was entirely different.

 **Southwark Cathedral, Southwark, London, England, December 2015**

"Robert, how are you?" Matthew asked nervously, glancing out his car window at the old cathedral. He didn't know what had brought him here this morning. He knew he needed a quiet place to make his phone call, and that he couldn't risk making the call from his hotel suite while Mary was asleep. He had his car brought up with the idea of going to one of the casinos and making the call from his office, but something stopped him. It was probably fear of being interrupted or bothered with business, and business was the last thing he wanted to think of now. It was also likely a need deep within him to find neutral ground, a place that wasn't linked to Crawley Group or even to the Crawley family. He had driven along the River Thames while he spoke to Cora, and when she put Robert on, he pulled over and parked in front of the cathedral, the sight of the old church soothing him somehow. There was a metaphor standing before him in a way, a religious site that had lasted for over 1,000 years, bombed severely during World War II, and still standing proudly today.

"I'm well, thank you," Robert said crisply, his voice loud and clear. At least his mobile had excellent call reception here, Matthew thought, staring at the viewscreen of his car and seeing he had full bars. "How are you?"

"I'm well," Matthew said plainly. "Erm, Mary and I are taking a trip. We leave later this evening. It's a bit of a surprise that I've organized for her."

"Ah, well that should be enjoyable for her. You're very good at surprises," Robert replied.

Matthew was glad that they weren't on a video call as he rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling of the car.

"Yes, well it will be nice to get away and disconnect a bit," he said finally, trying to keep his tone pleasant. "Cora says you're enjoying the cruise."

"We are, yes," Robert admitted. "We've been getting a bit out of hand with all the souvenirs and knickknacks we've been collecting. She even bought a sari here in Fiji today, if you can believe that."

Matthew laughed politely.

"What do you want, Matthew?" Robert asked, cutting to the chase. "Our emails are descriptive enough about how our trip is going. You're calling us early in the morning on a Saturday. Clearly there's a reason."

Matthew frowned, but quickly composed himself.

"I expect you know," he said.

"I expect that you're not calling to apologize, not months after the fact," Robert said.

"No," Matthew said, barely keeping his voice neutral.

A lengthy pause set in as neither man wanted to speak next.

"I'm Mary's father. I think I deserve to hear you say it out loud, don't you think?" Robert said finally.

"I'm not asking for your permission, Robert," Matthew said.

"No, of course you're not," Robert said, huffing slightly. "Why start now?"

"If Mary accepts me, I would hope you would be happy, at least for her, and so I wanted to call you and Cora first, so that you were aware," he said.

"As a courtesy," Robert finished.

"Yes," Matthew agreed.

"Well, you've called, and we've spoken. I'm aware. If you have nothing to ask, then that's it, isn't it?" Robert said.

"Will you be happy, for Mary?" Matthew asked.

"Does it matter?" Robert retorted. "Whether I am or not won't stop you, and I suspect it won't stop her, so it's quite irrelevant how I feel, isn't it?"

"Just because your feelings aren't determinative of what I will do doesn't mean I don't hold them in consideration," Matthew replied, his annoyance rising. "And I know it will mean something to Mary."

"My feelings…" Robert repeated.

"Yes," Matthew said.

"Matthew, for whatever it is worth, I am concerned. I am concerned about you, and this has nothing to do with business. You love Mary, I know that. You will honour her and be true to her, of that I have no question. You will not hesitate to give her the world, and devote yourself to her happiness. There has never been any doubt in my mind about how you feel about her. I saw it when you were teenagers, and nothing has changed," Robert said.

"But?" Matthew offered carefully.

"But marriage is about far more than that," Robert continued. "Marriage is a partnership, a give-and-take where both people support each other, where they are better together than they would be on their own."

"And you don't think that Mary and I meet that description?" Matthew asked, frowning at the viewscreen.

"I believe your relationship with Mary is heavily tilted in her favour," Robert said. "You cater to her. You are supportive to a fault. All you want to do is make her life easier, with no concern for yourself. That isn't marriage, Matthew. For now, you're happy if Mary is happy, but what about next year, and the year beyond that? Five years from now? Ten years from now? If you devote yourself to Mary's happiness, even at the expense of your own, you lose yourself in the process, regardless of your intentions. I believe that the reason you behave this way is because you're afraid to lose her if you were to deny her anything. What happens one day when you realize that you have devoted yourself to her for the majority of your marriage and you're known more as Mary's husband than you are as Matthew Crawley? Or worse yet, what if you gradually grow to hold the fact that Mary does not support you to the same degree that you support her against her?"

"You think I'll leave her?" Matthew asked incredulously.

"I don't know what you'll do, Matthew, or what she would do, should either of you come to understand that marriage is not what you expected," Robert said. "You wanted to know my feelings, and there they are. You don't need my permission, but I would give it to you if you asked for it, because I know that Mary would be happy with you. You don't need my blessing, but you have it nonetheless, as I do believe you are right together, for now. However, I am concerned, and I expect I will continue to be concerned."

Matthew stared at the monitor, trying to understand the Earl's words.

"Matthew?" Robert asked after moments of silence.

"Yes," Matthew replied. "Thank you, Robert, for your views. Good night."

"Good night," Robert answered succinctly and hung up the call.

Matthew slumped back in his seat. He turned his head and looked out at the old cathedral, staring vacantly as his mind worked.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, December 2015**

"Now, the next order of business is the ICE Totally Gaming Conference in February," Anna said, scrolling through her tablet screen. "We've already got all of our machines installed for the new expansion area, but we may want to upgrade what we've got in the current space. William, Mr. Crawley wants you to attend and prepare a presentation for management on the different slot machines and currency processing equipment that you think might be worth our taking a look."

"Really?" William blinked in surprise.

"Yes, really, Mr. Mason," Alex said, smiling at William in amusement.

"Erm…all right," William swallowed. "All right, yes, of course."

"We'll all be attending at some point," Anna said, glancing at Alex briefly before turning back to William. "However when it comes to understanding the new technologies and what not, you're better suited for that. I'll flip you the list of exhibitors that Mary was interested in and you can go from there."

"Right," William said, nodding a bit more confidently as he made notes on his tablet.

"Speaking of the new expansion, the soft opening is beginning of February, as you all know," Anna said, looking at the staff gathered around the boardroom table. "We've been getting a lot of good publicity in the build-up, the marketing campaign has been a success and we're going to be filled to capacity through to May it looks like. Everyone please be mindful that the press are going to be coming through quite a bit over the next while. We've already had a few reporters come through unannounced, and that will only get more hectic. Speak to your departments. Let everyone know how important this is. As exciting as the launch will be, there's a significant number of media and special interest groups that would love nothing more than for us to fall flat on our faces. They'll nitpick and criticize every little detail, even make things up if they have to, all because they don't want us to succeed. We'll need everyone on their best behaviour. Who knows who will be watching?"

She paused to let the message sink in.

"Alex," she said, looking over at him.

"Everyone should be especially careful around the customers," Alex added, looking across the table. "We wouldn't put it past any television network or newspaper to hire secret shoppers or imbed their own people, try and get a rise out of one of the staff so they can put a scandalous headline across Twitter or something. Tell your staff to assume nothing. We're passing that message along across all the properties."

"So, that drunken group out for a hen night, or those stockbrokers acting rowdy at the craps table may not be just another bunch of people getting a bit out of hand," Anna echoed. "They might be trying to bait us into doing something controversial or ugly, so everyone be on their guard."

The staff exchanged surprised looks, then nodded back to her.

"All right, if no one has anything else, that will be all. Thanks, everyone. Have a good day," Anna declared.

The staff all rose from their chairs and filed out of the conference room. William was muttering to himself, his fingers working quickly on his tablet as he walked briskly back to his office.

"You should be nicer to him, you know," Anna said, looking at Alex pointedly as they got up from their chairs.

"I am nice to him," Alex protested. "I just want him to lighten up a bit. He should see these tasks as a chance to shine, not as something to be afraid of, or avoided."

"He's just nervous and scared, is all. He wants to do well by the both of you. He idolizes you, you know, you and Mr. Crawley," she smiled, walking out of the boardroom ahead of him.

"Lord knows why," Alex shrugged, following her to her office. "That was a rather productive meeting."

"It did go well, didn't it?" she agreed, smiling smugly as she sat down at her desk. "I was a bit afraid to be the chair with all the department heads attending but I didn't do too badly."

"You were great," he chuckled. "I thought I was watching a Vice-President at work."

"Stop it," she frowned. "That's not even remotely possible."

"Why not? Lady Mary's been promoted and her old position is open. You said yourself that she's busier now dealing with the bigger picture, overseeing all of the company, rather than just focusing on Crockfords and The Colony Club. You're already taking on more responsibility," Alex explained.

"I'm not asking Mary for a promotion, if that's what you're suggesting," she said. "My title doesn't matter. I know that she relies on me, and that's what's important."

"I'm not saying you need a promotion, even though you deserve one," he replied. "I'm just saying that I think you've been handling your changed role quite brilliantly since Lady Mary became President, and you should be proud of that."

She smiled as she moved her mouse to wake up her computer monitors.

"I am proud, a little bit," she managed, smirking at him. "It sounds stupid to say it, but life is quite good at the moment."

"It is," he nodded, leaning over the desk towards her. "Though something is missing."

"What's that?" she asked, blinking as she looked up at him.

"Lunch," he said playfully.

She rolled her eyes and went back to her computer.

"Give me ten minutes," she said.

"Ten minutes. I'll come and pick you up," he joked, turning and heading back to his office.

She looked up and watched him leave, the corner of her mouth twisting slightly as idle thoughts ran through her mind. Shaking her head, she went back to checking her emails.

 **Private Yacht, Somewhere off the South coast of Gran Canaria, Canary Islands, Spain, Atlantic Ocean, December 2015**

Mary leaned against the railing and gazed out at the sparkling ocean. She lifted her head up to the sky and closed her eyes, the bright sun warming her face. Her lips parted in a wide grin and she hummed with delight as she let the scene wash over her. Blue skies. Blue seas. Warm sun. Cool ocean breeze. It was all absolutely glorious.

Opening her eyes, she turned away from the railing and made her way to the stern, her sandals padding along the warm deck. Arriving at the lounge area, she went over to the large bed set up beneath the sun and sat down next to Matthew.

She smirked as she watched him, his eyes closed, one arm back above his head and curled around the pillow, the other resting on his bare stomach. His white skin had a touch of colour already after having been here for just two days. His legs were stretched out before him, the toned muscles of his bare thighs and calves perfectly sculpted, even at rest. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had just recently gained such a body, or whether she just hadn't bothered to notice him in years past.

Biting her tongue lightly, she leaned over and kissed him, laughing as his hand immediately came up and caressed her back. When she pulled back, he opened his eyes and looked up at her with a lazy smile.

"Well, that's disappointing," he said, his voice entirely relaxed and languid.

"What is?" she asked him, still smiling.

"I was hoping you would be more European in your sunbathing, rather than American," he said, closing his eyes again.

"You'd prefer I go topless?" she said, arching her eyebrow at his smug expression. "Well that's not surprising."

"Topless, bottomless, either or. I'm not fussy," he said.

"And you have no issues with the crew seeing your girlfriend half-naked?" she asked.

"I highly doubt you'd be the first woman to go topless on this boat," he said. "Apparently Gigi Hadid and a bunch of her model friends had quite the do onboard last year."

"I heard about that," she said lightly, settling in next to him and caressing his chest. "Lewis told me all about it."

"He did? What did he say?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking at her. "Are there pictures?"

"None of your business, don't pry," she retorted, leaning over and kissing him. "And that's another reason I'm not going topless. Who knows what idiots are out there taking photographs? That's just what I need – 'Crawley Group President bares all while spotted cavorting with boyfriend in the Canary Islands'."

"Spotted cavorting with handsome boyfriend in the Canary Islands," he amended, smiling at her .

"Spotted cavorting with handsome boyfriend in the Canary Islands," she laughed, kissing him again.

"Spotted cavorting with handsome, brilliant, irresistible boyfriend in the Canary Islands," he added, pulling her on top of him and kissing her.

"Spotted cavorting with handsome, brilliant, irresistible and insatiably horny boyfriend in the Canary Islands," she teased, laughing as he squeezed her bottom and deepened their kiss.

"I'm good with that headline," he said, kissing her cheek and moving down to her neck.

"Mmm," she sighed pleasantly, turning her head and resting against him as they both closed their eyes. "This is wonderful, darling. Thank you so much for bringing me here."

"I'm glad that you approve," he said. "And we're miles off the coast. No paparazzi would dare follow us out here."

"So you say, until we see helicopters overhead," she chuckled. "I know we aren't celebrities, but I did notice a few people looking us over at the airport."

"They were looking you over, not me," he said. "And it's entirely possible they were just ogling you because you're gorgeous, not because they know you're the Lady Mary Crawley."

"Oh I don't know. I did see a few women swoon staring at that cute bum of yours," she joked.

"Yes, I'm very popular with the airport counter staff," he said. "Average age 60."

They laughed together, then Mary shifted into a more comfortable position, lying against his side with a long leg wrapped across his. She wasn't one of those women who worshipped the sun, although her bikini did leave quite a lot of her pale skin exposed. She was quite surprised and pleased when Matthew brought her to Gran Canaria, imagining that they would have a rented house on the beach, and would spend their vacation eating fresh seafood, swimming in the ocean, and visiting the many small villages around the island. It was a shock when he escorted her to the port and they boarded the large, luxurious yacht, big enough for a dozen passengers at least, but reserved for just the two of them, and the Captain and crew members needed to run the ship.

Having spent a fair amount of time on yachts and cruise ships, she was entirely comfortable being on the water. Their suite was so lavish that she couldn't even tell they were anchored in the water as she slept. The crew quarters were at the opposite end of the ship, and they weren't interrupted unless they called for service. It did feel as though they were in their own world, and the warm weather helped immensely, yet another contrast from London that helped her leave her busy life behind.

"What do you want to do this afternoon?" she asked. "Did you want to snorkel or take the Sea-Doo out? Or perhaps stay in?"

He opened his eyes and caught her mischievous expression.

"You've been rather accommodating ever since we got to Spain," he noted.

"With good reason," she smiled. "You've gone to so much effort to set all of this up and I want to show you my appreciation."

"Well, as enticing as that sounds, I'm afraid I will not be ready for any more of your particular brand of appreciation for a few more hours yet," he said, closing his eyes again. "You were so eager this morning that I'm still recovering."

"Classy," she said, slapping his chest. "So very classy."

He merely laughed and pulled her closer. Content to rest in his arms, she closed her eyes and allowed the sun and breeze to lull her to sleep.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 2015**

Sybil made herself comfortable, tucking a pillow under her chin and stretching out on her stomach. Smoothing a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear, she reached out and pressed the screen of her tablet.

"All right, can you see us?" she asked.

"Yes," Mary replied, smiling back at her. "Thank you so much, both of you, for dressing up for me."

"Well, we expected that you would be wearing far less, actually," Edith said, grinning as she leaned against Sybil's shoulder.

"Very funny," Mary replied. "We still dress for dinner here, you know."

"Only you would insist on formal attire for dinner on a private yacht," Sybil laughed.

"I'm not like you Sybil, darling, I can't spend all day and night in a bikini," Mary teased.

"Your loss," Sybil shrugged.

"What have you been doing?" Edith asked. "You know, besides all the sex, I mean."

Sybil laughed.

Mary rolled her eyes.

"The weather here has been absolutely perfect. It isn't too hot because we're on the water, and we haven't seen a cloud the entire time we've been here," Mary gushed. "We have a chef, so all our meals have been lovely, and we spend the day going swimming, snorkeling, we've even done a bit of fishing, though we haven't caught anything yet."

"I cannot picture you fishing at all," Sybil shook her head.

"I'm actually quite good at it, I've at least gotten a few bites. Matthew's hopeless," Mary laughed. "He's out on deck giving it a go right now, though how he expects to catch anything at night, I have no idea."

"It all sounds quite relaxing," Edith remarked.

"So, is he going to propose?" Sybil asked.

Mary blinked in surprise. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at her sisters.

"No!" she said quietly. "What makes you think that he would?"

"I know nothing," Sybil promised. "I'm just saying that it's a rather romantic location, the two of you alone, out at sea, under the sun and stars…"

"You're sounding like Mama," Mary grumbled. "We're simply enjoying a wonderful trip together, that's it. This week is about putting everything off to the side and spending time with each other. I'm sure there's nothing more to it than that."

"All right, if you say so," Edith shrugged.

"I do," Mary replied. "Now, what else is going on? I saw something in my email about Papa and Mama arriving in Australia?"

 **Private Yacht, Somewhere off the South coast of Gran Canaria, Canary Islands, Spain, Atlantic Ocean, December 2015**

Matthew frowned as he looked out across the dark water. Out here at sea, the star overhead were bright and filled the sky. It reminded him a little bit of Yorkshire. The stars were so much easier to see at Downton Abbey than at his childhood home in Manchester.

He looked down again at the small red box that he'd been juggling in his hand for the past few minutes. When he had first planned this trip, he had worked out every last detail, but now he wasn't so sure about what he wanted to do. Everything was going so well. Even though they had spent most of the week on the yacht and hadn't gone into port except for an afternoon of shopping and sightseeing, he hadn't been bored or lacking in things to do. They each had made a determined effort not to check their phones or go online for work, and he was impressed that Mary was able to disconnect so easily.

Instead, they spent most of their time talking, their conversations ranging from the silly to the serious. Earlier today they cuddled together on the hammock and had an hour-long chat trading the stupidest questions they could think of. His tended towards 'Who would you rather be? James Bond or a ninja?' and Mary countered with 'If you only had one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?' and other such nonsense. They actually took the questions quite seriously, although that was nothing compared to their dinner conversation. By the time the crewwoman had brought in their churros con chocolate dessert, they had agreed that it was better to attempt something and fail, rather than not attempt it at all, that Edith and Bertie Pelham would be dating until at least the Summer, and that one could not truly have happiness without knowing sadness. Conversely, they disagreed on whether doing wrong was in fact 'wrong' if nobody ever found out about it, whether it was possible that they were living in some version of The Matrix, and whether Violet and Isobel were truly friends, or were just too lazy to go out and find better friends.

The trip had been everything he wanted it to be, even better than he planned, but for this last task.

The small red box felt bulky and heavy in his hand as he looked out to the evening horizon. Weeks ago he had been so certain. The setting was perfect, romantic and special, just the two of them. He would ask Mary to be his wife, she would say yes, and they would celebrate beneath the stars and begin their life together.

It wasn't so much Robert's warning that now dissuaded him, or even Mary's concerns from months ago that he shouldn't rely upon her for his happiness. He didn't depend on Mary for anything. He was his own man. His life was fulfilling and busy. He had his work, and his cycling and exercise, United, a handful of other hobbies and pastimes. They were in a good place together now after the ups and downs of the past year, and it seemed natural to him that they should make their relationship more permanent.

But why did he want to marry her? Or more importantly, why did he feel he had to marry her now? They were together. They had survived Patrick's murder and Carlisle's blackmail, convinced Robert to resign and taken control of the company. Their relationship was strong, and they lacked for nothing. He knew Mary loved him. What else was there?

"You've given it up, have you?" Mary asked, coming up behind him and circling her arms around his waist.

"What?" he asked in surprise, surreptitiously tucking the small red box into the pocket of his shorts as he turned around and hugged her close.

"Night fishing," she explained. "Not going to catch a marlin after all?"

"Not tonight, no," he recovered, kissing her lightly.

"Well, come inside then," she said, smiling at him.

"I'll be there in a minute," he said. "Just thinking a bit."

"No," she said, taking his hands and leading him away from the railing. "No more thinking. No more philosophical questions. No more existential debates on the meaning of life or our place in the universe."

"Whatever will we do, then?" he asked, smiling at her as she led the way back to their suite.

"The only question I want you to ponder for the rest of the night," she said suggestively. "Is how many times are you going to make love to me?"

"That…is a very good question," he swallowed.

She laughed, stopping to pull him close and kiss him, her tongue swiping across his lips playfully.

"Darling," she whispered, her eyes dark and wicked. "Take me to bed and fuck me."

He groaned as her words lit his arousal. He kissed her hard, then scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way to the suite.

* * *

Mary turned the throttle of the Sea-Doo and picked up speed, cutting through the water. Earlier in the week, when Matthew had first taken her out on the small craft, she had clung to him desperately, almost screaming as he took turns far too fast for her liking. Days later, after some practice and encouragement from him, she could now drive one on her own, and she rather liked it.

Having left him back at the yacht working out in the onboard gym, she took the opportunity to get away and be alone with her thoughts. It wasn't quite the same as taking an invigorating and refreshing ride on Diamond, but it would do.

Sybil and Edith's had asked her about whether Matthew was proposing again, and the question was no longer just bouncing around Mary's mind, it had taken root and grown branches. She genuinely felt she was in no hurry to get married, but the question seemed to be unavoidable. This past week's conversation with her sisters wasn't the first time the subject had come up.

Mary was in unique circumstances compared to many of her friends. Even most of her former classmates and colleagues who were successful career women were already married or engaged. They were generally older than she was as well, but the same idea applied – once one was settled in one's career, marriage and family was the next logical step. Whether that applied to her though, was another question.

She eased up on the throttle and glided along for a while. It was obvious why her Mama and sisters wondered about Matthew's intentions. She suspected that even Anna and Granny were expecting him to pop the question at any moment. With Christmas approaching, New Year's after that, and Valentine's shortly thereafter, she felt as though she would be navigating a gauntlet of potential proposal opportunities.

If she was being honest, she had never actually wondered what her answer would be if he did propose. Any thought of marriage was usually quickly forgotten. There was no rush. They were young. Things were very good. Their relationship didn't need to be defined so precisely. They had just celebrated their anniversary a few weeks ago.

The counter arguments rang in her ears before she even had to think of them. What was Matthew waiting for? What was she waiting for? They'd known each other since they were children. They knew the best and worst of each other, almost to an extreme degree. Mary prided herself on never letting anyone get too close. Anna was her best friend, but didn't know all of her secrets. Sybil and Edith were her sisters, but she didn't confide in them completely. Not the way she did with Matthew. When she thought of her future, he was a part of it, no question, so why wouldn't she want him to be her husband as soon as possible?

She sighed and shook her head in consternation. Perhaps her confusion was a sign that they weren't ready for marriage at this time. That didn't mean they didn't love each other, that they didn't belong together, that they weren't in a fulfilling and strong relationship. It just meant that now wasn't the right time to get married.

Frowning, she gunned the throttle and turned the Sea-Doo around, determined to get back to the yacht. They had a few days left in their private paradise and she wouldn't let the question of whether Matthew would propose to her or not ruin their vacation. She expected that he wouldn't anyway, not yet, so it was all a moot point to think about it, or what her answer would be.

* * *

"What do you think about children?"

He blinked as he sipped his sparkling water, taking a moment to swallow and put his glass down before looking across the table at her.

"What about them?" he asked.

"What do you think about them?" Mary repeated. "Do you like children?"

"Yes," he said after a slight pause. "Who doesn't like children?"

"Of course everyone likes children, until they have to take care of them and raise them," she replied. "It's not for everyone, you know."

"No, I suppose it isn't," he agreed, nodding his head slowly. "Why? Do you want children?"

"Of course I do, someday," she shrugged, sipping her wine. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I can't imagine a reason," he said. "But then, I'm not you."

She pursed her lips as she looked down at her plate and went about slicing her chicken.

He watched her for a moment, then returned to his steak.

"So let's say you did want children," she asked as he was in mid-cut. "How many would you want?"

"Erm…" he said, pondering the question. "Five, maybe?"

"Five!" she sputtered. "Don't you think that's a lot?"

"I…guess?" he said, tilting his head as he contemplated the number. "But it would be nice. They'd be their own group, they could all play midfield at the same time in a 3-5-2 formation."

"And what if they aren't all boys?" she said, frowning at him before composing herself.

"Girls can play football too, you know," he replied easily. "Anyway, it's just a theory."

"I can't imagine ever having five children," she shook her head. "I'd feel terribly outnumbered."

"I don't think that parenting comes down to a ratio, necessarily," he chuckled.

"You'd be surprised," she said plainly. "Why do you think we spent so much time with Carson growing up? Mama and Papa couldn't handle the three of us on their own."

He laughed and took a bite of his steak.

"So if you didn't have five children," she said, interrupting his enjoyment of his meal once again. "Would you be disappointed?"

"Do you mean would I settle for four?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"Or two, or even just one," she said.

"If my child, or children, were healthy, then I suppose the precise number doesn't matter," he said.

She nodded and reached for her wine glass.

"Besides, it isn't as if it will all be up to me," he added, taking another bite of steak.

* * *

"Have you given any more thought to the future?" she asked him as she ran the sponge along her arm.

"The future? In what way?" he asked, his hands sliding underneath the bubble bath and pulling her back against him.

"Just what you intend to do in the coming months or years," she explained, leaning back against his chest. Though the bath was the size of a whirlpool, she had settled into his lap once they got in, and was now busying herself with washing while he held her from behind.

"I have thought about it, actually. I think my time as Managing Director may come to an end later next year," he said.

"Oh?" she said, arching her eyebrow. "Have you decided to move on to something else?"

"Not yet," he said. "I have a few ideas on what I want for the next part of my career, though, and I don't think it involves running a casino, at least not all of the time."

"Ah, I see," she said curtly.

"And what about you?" he asked. "You've been President for a full quarter now. Is it everything you imagined?"

"It's even better," she said crisply, smiling as she ran the sponge along her shoulder and collarbone. "It's everything I could possibly want."

"Good," he replied, frowning at her answer.

* * *

Mary opened her eyes, the darkness of the suite taking a few seconds to come into focus. Try as she might, she couldn't sleep. Matthew's slow and regular breaths caressing the back of her neck told her that he had no such issues.

She blinked several times, taking mere seconds to wake up fully. Her mind felt like a jumbled mess, despite her best efforts to ignore the nagging feelings and questions clouding her brain. When she returned back to the yacht from her Sea-Doo excursion earlier today, she had pushed all thoughts of marriage and the future to the side, only for them to come roaring back over dinner.

There was something in Matthew's manner that had unnerved her. His answers to her questions were so nonchalant and offhanded, as though he hadn't even wondered about things like children and his career path. It wasn't as though she was asking him to bind himself to a specific number, or have the next twenty years of his life mapped out in great detail, but the fact that he didn't seem to really care about such things annoyed her more than she expected.

Maybe what was bothering her about the entire marriage question was that she didn't know where he stood, and tonight's conversations had not helped at all. She herself did not spend a great deal of time planning either, to be fair. A part of her was terrified of having children, both in terms of the pain of pregnancy and labour, as well as having to be entirely responsible for another human being. It seemed a very daunting challenge, one that Sybil and Edith were probably better suited for. At the same time, she still knew she would have children someday, and she wanted to have them, although five was surely out of the question. It was jarring to hear that Matthew had not paid the idea any real attention.

His laissez-faire attitude on his job was even more vexing. Of course she didn't expect him to work under her for the rest of his life. It was obvious that he did not aspire to be Managing Director of Crawley Group as the pinnacle of his professional life, but surely he wouldn't just leave without having a concrete plan of where he wanted to go? Why would he even imagine giving up his position if it wasn't absolutely certain that his next job was markedly better? The way he talked tonight in the bath, it seemed he was happy to just resign and see where life took him next. That was all well and good, but how could Mary be expected to commit to someone who wasn't against such a transient existence?

She slowly lifted his arm from her chest and slid out of his hold. Sitting up in bed, she glanced back at him, making sure he was still asleep before she silently got out of bed and fetched her robe and slippers. She imagined it would be cold out on deck, but she had to get out of the suite and think clearly.

After finishing up in the bath, they had made love, and as usual, it was very good; perhaps too good. Their conversations had not led to any concrete decisions before they just forgot about them and had sex again. In fairness, it wasn't as if she had asked him to make any decisions. Her questions had been hypothetical and he had answered them as such. Still, if he truly cared about the topics themselves, surely he would have devoted some actual time and thought to them before the urge to get her naked took over once more?

A cool gust hit her when she came out on deck, and she rubbed her arms as she walked over to the railing. The stars and the moon above cast a silver glow down upon her, a shimmering trail running along the water to the horizon. It was so peaceful and calm out here. She sighed in frustration.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered to the stars as she gazed upward. "What the hell are we doing?"

She thought she was imagining things when she heard the soft notes of a piano coming from below the deck. Glancing over the railing in confusion, she blinked as a violin joined in and the music grew louder.

One by one, small lights on the railing lit up, moving in a trail away from her. She watched, frowning at the sight, then turned around as the lights cast a small halo around the deck where she was standing, joining the moonlight to push the dark shadows away.

' _You tell all the boys no; makes you feel good, yeah. I know you're out of my league, but that won't scare me away, oh no…'_

Mary blinked as she recognized the lyrics of the song that was now seemingly playing from above her head. She looked up, and took a step forward, wondering what was happening.

' _You've carried on so long, you couldn't stop if you tried it. You've built your wall so high, that no one could climb it. But I'm gonna try…'_

Her mouth fell open as Matthew came out on to the deck. He was still topless, but he had clearly combed his hair and put on a pair of pyjamas, though she wasn't paying attention to his attire. All she could see was his bright eyes and the knowing smile across his lips.

' _Would you let me see beneath your beautiful? Would you let me see beneath your perfect? Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight?'_

The song seemed to fade slightly, and she swallowed nervously as he came to stand before her.

"Matthew, what…" she began.

He shushed her with a smile and the caress of his fingers across her lips. His hand moved from her face down her front, shifting to her side and finally taking her hand in his and bringing it up between them.

"September 17, 1994," he said, his eyes never wavering from hers. "It was a Saturday. My parents told me that we were going to visit some friends of theirs in Yorkshire, so they got me up early in the morning, bundled me into the car and drove the two-some-odd hours from Manchester to Downton. I complained the entire time, I think. I was cold. I was hungry. I was tired. I was eight. 'Why were we going?' 'Who were these people?' Papa had no patience for my whinging and didn't even answer. Mother was more tolerant. She kept saying the same things over and over. 'We're going to see Robert and Cora. They're our friends. They have three lovely daughters that you'll get along with.'"

Mary laughed.

"When we got there, I was mildly impressed by all the land and wide open spaces, a bit more impressed by the big house that we pulled up to, and rather intrigued by the line of people who had come out to welcome us," he continued.

She shook her head at the memory.

"Robert seemed a giant of a man, and Cora was so elegantly dressed and sophisticated, but when I got to the daughters, something…unexpected happened…" he said, a smirk crossing his lips.

She rolled her eyes, smiling at him all the while.

"The youngest, Sybil, was clinging to Cora's leg. She was only two then, but was the cutest thing. The middle sister, Edith; she was four, and was standing up straight, trying to seem taller than she really was…but I couldn't take my eyes off the third daughter, the eldest. She was seven," he said.

"I was quite perturbed to have set aside part of my day to go out and meet you," she recalled.

"A sign of things to come," he joked. "You had a red ribbon in your hair and you wore a blue jumper, and you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen."

She smiled wistfully.

"Some people would call it a crush. After all, we had just met, to say nothing for the fact that we were merely children, and we knew nothing about each other. But from that moment on, no matter how foolish or juvenile it may sound, I loved you Mary, madly," he said confidently.

She pursed her lips to stop herself from grinning stupidly. Her pulse began to beat faster.

"You asked me tonight about children, and about my future, what plans I had, where I saw myself years from now," he said. "I know that my answers were not entirely pleasing to you, but there's a reason for why I didn't seem too concerned about any of that."

She felt her breath catch.

"We cannot know how much time we have, darling, especially in the world we choose to live in. We're very lucky, and privileged, to be in the position that we're in. So, I don't bother worrying about things like money, or my career, where I'll be living, or working years from now, or whatever. What matters, what's most important, above anything else, is that I get to spend my life with you."

Her pulse jumped.

"I love you, Mary," he said warmly, squeezing her hand. "And loving you doesn't make me weak, or take away from who I am, and investing myself in your happiness doesn't mean that I can't be happy on my own. I've been on my own. I know I can be happy, and successful, and have a fulfilling life without you. But that's not the life I want. The life that I want, the happiest, most incredible, most amazing life I could possibly imagine, doesn't exist without you in it."

She could feel that she was about to cry buckets and she didn't give a fig about it.

Still holding her hand, he got down on one knee before her. He brought his other hand in front of him, revealing a brilliant diamond ring in a small red box.

She covered her mouth with her free hand, her pulse leaping. There was still music playing, some other song, but she didn't pay any attention to it, her eyes focused on his smiling face.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he said. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, the tears falling as she began to shake. "Oh God! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

They both laughed as he rose to his feet. Their hands shook as he brought the ring to her finger and slid it on. It was a tad big, but it fit well enough, the eternity band of white gold and diamonds seeming to make the large stone sparkle even more.

She didn't quite know the precise order of what happened next but she was in his arms and kissing him, then somehow he lifted her off the deck and spun them around, the tears still falling down her cheeks as she hung on to him and kept her lips locked on his. Eventually he set her down and with his arm around her shoulders they looked up at the stars together. She would glance down at her ring in wonder, then over at him, and back up at the sky, her eyes shifting back and forth, her mind scarcely believing it was all real.

"Just how long have you been planning this?" she asked, turning around to face him and placing her hands on his chest, her diamond ring feeling so natural on her hand resting against his skin. There was a giddiness in her stomach that she couldn't shake.

"Years, darling," he said, holding her by her hips and pulling her in for a kiss. "Years."

"Years. Goodness," she said happily. "I do hope I'm worth it."

"Every second," he said, kissing her again.


	37. Chapter 37

**Previously:**

 **Private Yacht, Somewhere off the South coast of Gran Canaria, Canary Islands, Atlantic Ocean, December 2015**

Still holding her hand, he got down on one knee before her. He brought his other hand in front of him, revealing a brilliant diamond ring in a small red box.

She covered her mouth with her free hand, her pulse leaping. There was still music playing, some other song, but she didn't pay any attention to it, her eyes focused on his smiling face.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he said. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, the tears falling as she began to shake. "Oh God! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

They both laughed as he rose to his feet. Their hands shook as he brought the ring to her finger and slid it on. It was a tad big, but it fit well enough, the eternity band of white gold and diamonds seeming to make the large stone sparkle even more.

She didn't quite know the precise order of what happened next but she was in his arms and kissing him, then somehow he lifted her off the deck and spun them around, the tears still falling down her cheeks as she hung on to him and kept her lips locked on his. Eventually he set her down and with his arm around her shoulders they looked up at the stars together. She would glance down at her ring in wonder, then over at him, and back up at the sky, her eyes shifting back and forth, her mind scarcely believing it was all real.

"Just how long have you been planning this?" she asked, turning around to face him and placing her hands on his chest, her diamond ring feeling so natural on her hand resting against his skin. There was a giddiness in her stomach that she couldn't shake.

"Years, darling," he said, holding her by her hips and pulling her in for a kiss. "Years."

"Years. Goodness," she said happily. "I do hope I'm worth it."

"Every second," he said, kissing her again.

 **Chapter 37:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, December 2015**

Mary sipped her glass of white wine, then placed it on the side table and curled up on the sofa. Her tablet and papers were spread out on the coffee table, but she ignored work for the moment, tucking her legs underneath her and getting comfortable. She looked out the window, the early evening sky already dark. Daylight was fleeting in Winter. Was it just last week that she was in Spain basking in glorious sunshine? Her eyes fell to her left hand and she smiled at the reminder of her trip – the diamond ring that now adorned her finger.

Lady Mary Crawley was a complex woman, and proud of it. In many ways, she was modern, progressive and practical, willing to consider almost any viewpoint or opinion, if properly supported and justified. In some things, though, she could be stubborn, steadfast and unwaveringly loyal to custom and tradition, even to an unreasonable degree. Whether it was due to her conservative upbringing, or the fact that she was one of the last true aristocrats by blood, Mary felt that there was a proper way about certain things – marriage in particular; more specifically the exact manner in which her own wedding would occur, from proposal through to the ceremony.

Some of her friends shared her old fashioned ideology on marriage, adhering to the same beliefs as their parents and grandparents before them. Others were more modern. She had friends who had talked about marriage with their partners so far in advance that by the time the proposal came around, there was no mystery to it at all, even going so far as to pick out their own engagement ring beforehand. She knew other women who had even proposed to their future spouses, rather than wait to be asked themselves. Mary believed in each bride being free to do things her own way, and she didn't judge, but her idea of a perfect proposal and wedding were straight out of a previous century. She wanted the proposal to be a complete surprise, even though she hated surprises generally, and for it to be romantic and memorable, even though she was the last person that one would think of as being sentimental. Though she would shudder at the mention of the word, this was one aspect of her life that she did want to be like a fairytale.

She wasn't the only woman who probably spent more time thinking about the proposal and wedding than the actual man who would become her husband. The precise qualities that she wanted in a man changed over time. Whereas she probably did not have any real clarity about what made her ideal husband until she was in her twenties, she had dreamed about her proposal and wedding since she could walk, ever since she got to see her Mama's diamond tiara and gorgeous chiffon wedding dress. A proper wedding to her meant having the ceremony in a church with all of her family and friends there. When she was younger, she wanted her reception at Downton Abbey, but she wasn't as firm about that anymore. The proposal, however, was non-negotiable in certain crucial aspects.

Sometimes in her mind, the venue of where it would take place would change, or the time of day, even what she was wearing. The precise details weren't as important as the way she wanted to feel in the moment. She didn't want to know anything about it beforehand. She didn't want a logical and orderly chat on all the reasons why getting married made sense, though that was perfectly reasonable and practical. She didn't want this to be just another checkmark on a list of life milestones, a requirement fulfilled. When someone asked her to marry him, she wanted to be swept off her feet.

Though it was now early days after she and Matthew got engaged, she freely admitted that he had pretty much smashed all of her lofty expectations to smithereens. Being proposed to on the deck of a private yacht underneath a full moon and star-filled evening sky, with the requisite love song playing in the background, was absolutely breathtaking and perfect. The setting was unquestionably romantic. His words were sweet, heartfelt and not overindulgent. He didn't quote poetry, copy song lyrics or recite clichés. She was so excited in the moment that she was rendered speechless, which was a miracle in and of itself. He even picked her up off her feet and spun her around like a scene out of a cheesy romantic comedy movie and she loved every second of it. Even their attire – she in her robe with no makeup on and her hair loose, and he in nothing but his pyjama bottoms – seemed appropriate, as though their clothing, or lack thereof, fit the intimacy of the occasion. There was literally nothing he had done that she could improve upon.

And that was before she even saw the ring.

A popular misconception, and not altogether unfounded, was that rich people loved excess. The more outlandish, the better, or so people said. Rich people wore fancy clothes made from expensive fabrics for no other reason than that they looked good. Rich people drove lavish cars with extra gadgets, bells and whistles that had almost nothing to do with actually getting from one place to another, and everything to do with looking good doing it. Rich women, in particular, loved bling – sparkling diamonds, the bigger, the better, all the more easy to show off and be seen.

Mary had her fair share of dazzling jewellery, but when it came to her engagement ring, she hated the idea of a massive rock on her finger. She adored the vintage rings that her Granny had – yellow or white gold with simple and elegant stones. She didn't want a platinum band, or some huge rectangular shaped diamond that blinded people around her. Being a traditionalist though, meant that she never told Matthew any of this. As naïve as it sounded, she always expected her future husband to just know, somehow, what she wanted, because if he truly knew her, he would know. Since she had no idea that Matthew was going to propose, she also had no clue what ring he would choose for her until he revealed it for the first time.

It turned out that the man knew more about diamonds, and about her, than she originally thought.

Her engagement ring was made of white gold, a thin eternity band with small diamonds placed around the entire circumference. Normally, she thought eternity bands looked rather gaudy, but hers was quite sophisticated. The jewels were small and not flashy at all. They made her ring look elegant, rather than excessive, glamourous, but not extravagant. The main diamond, a beautiful cushion cut, internally flawless gem, was big, but not too big. Rather than grab one's attention, her ring drew you in, less overwhelming and more hypnotic. In her view, women who constantly dangled their hands out in front of them to show off their rings were without proper manners, but she couldn't take her eyes away from hers, looking at it often. It wasn't that she wanted to shove it in people's faces, or anything. She just loved her ring.

A smile spread her lips as she thought back to the trip to Spain that had changed her life. Sybil and Edith had showered her with gleeful 'I told you so!'s when she Facetimed them the next morning with her news. To them, and a few others probably, it was obvious that Matthew was going to ask her to marry him while they were on vacation, but she truly had no idea. Finding out he had even called her parents beforehand had shocked her. It was the type of old fashioned detail that she had always wanted, but never expected, and certainly never expected from him after all he had been through with Papa. She could only imagine how awkward and difficult a conversation that must have been for him, and yet he had done it, not because he needed to, but because he knew she would want him to, and that was reason enough.

She arched her eyebrow and smirked as she thought back to the night of his proposal. It was something like two o'clock in the morning when he did it, and he admitted later on that if she hadn't woken up and gone outside to the deck, he was going to wait until the next night. Rather than go to sleep, she had pulled him back to bed and thanked him quite thoroughly, screaming her pleasure so loud that she was certain the entire crew and most of Gran Canaria had heard her.

The lurid images in her mind disappeared as her mobile rang. Glancing at the call display, she smiled and put her headset in her ear.

"Hi," she answered warmly, picking up the call.

"Yes, hello," Matthew said formally. "I'm looking for my fiancée."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Yes, this is she."

"This is she, who?" he asked.

She could picture his grin. "This is she, your fiancée," she said pointedly.

"And who are you?" he asked.

"Really?" she muttered impatiently. "It's me, Matthew."

"And you are?" he tried again.

"Lady Mary Crawley," she sighed. "Your fiancée. Your future wife. How many times are you going to do this, may I ask?"

"I don't know. How many times has it been?" he chuckled.

"At least a dozen since you proposed," she said. "You love that word, clearly."

"What word is that?" he asked, jumping at the chance.

"Fiancée!" she said in exasperation. "Fiancée, fiancée, fiancée! God, you are so annoying!"

"I'm on my way," he said, still laughing.

"Good. Bye," she said, smiling at his ridiculousness.

She heard him still laughing when he hung up the call. She reached up to remove her headset, then thought better of it and took another sip of wine. Sure enough, less than a minute later, her phone rang again.

"You're getting perilously close to not having a fiancée for much longer if you keep this up," she warned him by way of hello.

His laugh was annoyingly disarming. "I forgot to ask my beautiful fiancée what she wanted for dinner."

"Hmm, all right, you're forgiven, for now," she said, smiling again. "I feel like sushi. My normal order."

"Your wish is my command," he said, hanging up the phone.

Mary removed her headset and placed it next to her phone. She shook her head ruefully and picked up her tablet, figuring she had at least another half hour to get some work done before her stupidly wonderful fiancé came back with dinner.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, January 2016**

"Yes…yes…yes…all right…love you, bye," Mary said, hanging up the call and tossing her headset on the coffee table.

Sybil smiled as she ran her highlighter over the page of her textbook.

"It sounds like you and Mama are getting along," Edith remarked.

"She just won't stop," Mary grumbled, getting up from the sofa and going over to the bar to pour herself a drink. "She's been getting recommendations from her friends on venues, florists and caterers. I thought I would at least have these months until she came back to London free before being inundated."

"She's probably worried that you'll go ahead and plan everything without her while she's gone," Sybil smiled.

"And she'd be right," Mary said. "Which is why it's so annoying that she's involving herself from the other side of the world."

"You can't be surprised, though," Edith said. "Mama has been planning your wedding since you were born."

"Probably before that," Sybil chuckled.

"Well, she'll have to learn to share power," Mary retorted. "I won't exclude Isobel. Mama can't just shove her to the side, or me."

"That's rather fair of you," Edith noted.

"She's going to be my mother-in-law. Of course I want her to have a say," Mary sniffed.

"Yes, but it's been ages since she lived in London, and she never was one for hosting grand events and parties anyway. She can't know nearly as much as Mama when it comes to this," Sybil said.

"Isobel probably doesn't care," Edith shrugged. "She just wants the two of you married. The details aren't important to her, I would imagine."

"They aren't," Mary agreed. "But I still need her, as buffer if nothing else."

The sisters smiled knowingly.

"Shall I add Isobel to the list for your hen night, then?" Sybil joked.

"No," Mary said, frowning at her youngest sister. "There's no need for her to be there when the two of you try to make me look stupid."

Edith and Sybil laughed.

"What about Matthew?" Edith asked.

"He's definitely not invited to the hen night!" Mary said.

"No, I meant doesn't he get a say? It's his wedding too, you know," Edith said.

"He told me early on that he doesn't want to hear about it," Mary said, putting a slice of lemon in her drink. "He says it's fine for me to vent and complain to him as much as I like, but he only wants control over what he and his groomsmen are wearing and where we go on honeymoon."

"So he's going to let you have free reign over all the rest of it?" Sybil asked.

"Of course he is, he isn't stupid," Edith added. "He just wants Mary as his wife. He'd go to the local register office if he had to."

"Now that's not fair," Mary protested. "Matthew cares about the details. He wants our wedding to be special and memorable. He just doesn't want to deal with the hassles, is all, and sometimes I think he's got it right."

"He just doesn't want to be caught between Mary, Mama and Isobel," Sybil laughed.

Edith grinned and nodded in agreement.

"Anyway, enough about that. I want both of you to tell me what you think of these," Mary said, bringing her drink back to the sofa and sitting down. She hunted through her bag for a moment, then handed two red plastic discs to her sisters.

Sybil eyed the object curiously. There was a Chinese character on one side, together with the Crockfords logo, and a golden coloured monkey on the other.

"What's this? A coin of some sort?" Sybil asked, frowning at the piece.

"It's a special edition poker chip," Mary explained. "It's to commemorate Lunar New Year. We're going to have a limited production and make them available during our soft opening of the new expansion."

"That's quite clever," Edith said, nodding as she turned the chip over in her hand. "It's Year of the Monkey, is it?"

"It is," Mary nodded. "We'll have a different one each year, and over time they'll become a set."

"Like with those special postage stamps they make each year," Sybil said.

"Exactly, except much more sophisticated and valuable," Mary joked, taking the chips back.

"How are you coordinating your soft opening and the Lunar New Year celebrations with Matthew's Super Bowl party?" Edith asked.

"Very carefully," Mary said, rolling her eyes slightly. "On the positive side, the casino will be absolutely packed for that weekend in February, but with rather different crowds. Still, we've made it clear that the formal dress code will be enforced and because of the time zone difference, the game won't begin until close to midnight. I'm fairly confident we won't have too rowdy a bunch."

"Papa still doesn't sound too pleased about the idea of Matthew holding a party," Edith said.

"No, he doesn't," Mary agreed, recalling the last video call with her parents. The soft opening party had of course come up, as well as the slate of events they had scheduled for the beginning of February. Papa had frowned at the mention of Matthew's party where guests would be watching the year-end American football championship game on a large television screen in the new Crockfords sports book.

"Over £5 billion will be wagered on that one game alone, worldwide," Mary continued. "Over 97% of those bets will be done through websites like Matthew's and other non-sanctioned providers. We'd be stupid to not get a piece of that, even if we do have to pay taxes on it and all the rest."

Sybil laughed to herself.

"Something to say, darling?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow at her sister.

"It's just how eager you are now to support Matthew including sports gambling in the casino," Sybil replied, smiling back at Mary. "When he first arrived, you thought it entirely beneath you."

"Yes, well I've had the opportunity to properly review the merits of it," Mary said haughtily. "Perhaps last year it wasn't necessarily the right fit for us, but now I believe that it is."

"There seems to be a number of things that are fitting much better for you that you were quite against last year," Edith said smugly.

"Oh, grow up," Mary rolled her eyes, looking away and sipping her drink.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, London, England, January 2016**

"Darling?" Mary asked, snuggling closer to Matthew as they settled into their usual position to go to sleep.

"Mmm, yes?" he said, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at her, his arm going around her back, as usual.

"What was your plan for me?" she asked.

"Plan?" he frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When you came here from Manchester," she said. "You came here to fix Patrick's division, but also to try and make a go of it with me. What was your plan for that?"

"How was I going to convince you to fall in love with me, you mean?" he asked, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Yes," she said smugly. "Surely you thought of something?"

"Well, anything would have been preferable to what I'd been doing up until then, which was nothing," he said sarcastically.

She chuckled and ran her fingers down his bare chest and across his stomach.

"I knew I had to win you over professionally first," he continued. "I didn't have a chance if you couldn't at least respect my work, so that's what I focused on mainly in the beginning, trying to turn Patrick's division around and helping out with the trial. The more things improved, the more you would see me as not a threat to you, or a burden to you, but a colleague, someone you could rely on, in the office anyway."

"That part of your plan worked brilliantly, actually," she said, smiling in memory. "I raved to Anna about how profitable your properties were in such a short time, and you were everything I needed you to be during the trial, as well. When I told you I was sorry for the way I treated you, that wasn't an act. You did impress me in those early months, no matter how hard I tried to deny it."

"Yes, well relatively speaking that was the easy part," he laughed. "Being amicable co-workers wasn't all that I wanted, but I knew that if I tried to openly flirt with you or try to change our relationship so quickly, I was doomed to failure. My plan, such as it was, was to gradually show you how compatible we were, and hopefully get along better to the point that one day you would see me as more than just a colleague."

"But weren't you worried that I would put you in the friendzone?" she teased. "When you first arrived, thinking of you even as a friend was not something I thought would ever happen, let alone as my future husband."

"The friendzone is a dreadful purgatory, yes," he agreed, lightly rubbing her back. "But I expected it would take quite a while to get you to come around even that much, so I didn't plan anything more elaborate than that. I was hoping that we would spend more and more time together in and out of the office, and eventually that I could make a move of some sort after a sufficient time."

"Then I showed up at your hotel and propositioned you," she said amusedly. "Greatly speeding up your timetable, no doubt."

"I prefer thinking of it as you threw yourself at me," he joked.

"Ah, because I couldn't help myself?" she said. "I was powerless to resist the undeniable attraction between us, the mysterious 'something between us' that you alluded to?"

"Not one of my better lines, I'll admit," he said ruefully as she laughed. "It just was that in those days after the trial and leading up to the Black and White Ball, you were happier around me than I'd ever seen before. You were laughing and joking and teasing and flirting with me. I'd been waiting so long for the slightest encouragement from you that I jumped at the chance."

"Well obviously you did something right. I ended up in your bed that night, didn't I?" she said, kissing his chest lightly.

"Mmm," he hummed affirmatively. "And now here we are."

"Here we are," she repeated. "Spending the rest of our lives together. Who knew?"

"All it took was a lifetime of drama," he joked.

"Several lifetimes," she agreed, lifting her head and smiling at him in the dark. "Not the most romantic or easiest of journeys, but we got to where you wanted in the end, didn't we?"

"I certainly can't complain, we're years ahead of my original schedule," he said, sharing her smile.

"Would you really have waited that long?" she asked.

"It's easy to say now, but when you are talking about a lifetime together, a few years in the beginning isn't much," he said, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Millbank, London, England, January 2016**

Charles walked past the rows of cubicles and into his office. He sat down at his desk and switched on his computer screen, scrolling through his email until he found the message he was looking for. Opening the attachment, he began reviewing the text, jumping from one page to the next as he skimmed past sections he'd already read numerous times before.

"Sir, we've got the final settlement papers back from the lawyers for Mr. Carlisle," an agent said, standing in the doorway.

"I'm just looking over it now. Everything seems in order, there's almost no changes from the last draft," Charles said, still focused on his monitor.

"Are you confident that the deal will be approved?" the agent asked, taking a step into the office.

"One can only hope," Charles replied. "However, I think it's fundamentally sound. There's no jail time, of course, but imprisonment isn't nearly as important these days for the type of cases we deal with."

"It is a lot of money, sir," the agent said carefully.

"It's a record for HMRC, and Sir Richard is able to pay it in relatively short order," Charles replied. "All in all, I'd say it's a job well done."

"I suppose there may be some who think there's something wrong about a man being able to buy his way out of trouble," the agent offered.

Charles looked up from his monitor and smirked at the agent.

"There will always be those who have a rather romanticized view of what we do and the struggle of good vs evil," Charles said. "Whether sending someone to jail serves as an effective deterrent to other offenders is debatable. No one ever believes they will be caught, so the prospect of imprisonment doesn't enter their mindset. However, once word gets out of how much Sir Richard had to pay, and the fact that it's not only a record amount, but an amount that even the richest of tax evaders would have difficulty paying, it will give everyone pause. At the very least, they'll report more of their revenues to try and limit potential liability when we catch ultimately catch them. And, as for Sir Richard, he knows he'll be closely watched for years to come. He'd be stupid to try and pull something similar, but I almost hope he does. Our mandate isn't to put people in jail, it's to collect the taxes owed to Her Majesty."

"Yes, sir," the agent said quietly. "Well, with the Carlisle file wrapping up, what's next?"

"I have some leads," Charles said. "Sir Richard wasn't willing to give us any information on anyone else, but it isn't hard to go over his circle of associates and contacts and see if anything appears to be amiss."

The agent nodded and left his office.

Before turning back to his computer screen, Charles reached over and picked up an invitation with elegant embossed script and looked at it thoughtfully.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, January 2016**

The office level of Crockfords was covered in black marble tile, a remnant from an earlier renovation long before Mary's time. Though she wasn't against the expensive décor, it seemed a little bit out of place for a modern office. It scratched easily and was a pain to keep clean, even though there was a rather small staff traipsing across it each day. One benefit though, was that marble did not absorb sound particularly well, so whenever Mary walked out from her office, the sound of her heels was easily broadcast throughout the floor. Anna often joked that everyone knew whether Mary was in a good mood or not by the sound of her steps.

Her feet sounded absolutely furious today as she marched across the hall from her office to Matthew's.

"You aren't funny, you know," she said firmly, coming into his office and closing the door behind her. She sat down and crossed her legs, glaring at him.

"Do you mean I'm not funny generally, or I'm not funny for a specific reason?" Matthew asked lightly, still typing away and looking at his computer screen.

"Both," she sneered, frowning at him. "You know how important the soft opening next week is to me, to us, to the entire company. This isn't a time for juvenile jokes!"

He looked over at her thoughtfully, pausing to weigh his response. "What makes you think I'm not taking the soft opening as seriously as you are?"

"Anna circulated the latest guest list just now," she said pointedly. "I notice that you made some changes to it."

"Ah," he said, understanding what she as referring to. "Yes, I thought it would be helpful to sort the guests according to their affiliation so we could better understand which groups are attending."

She arched her eyebrow at him and put her tablet on his desk, spinning it around to face him.

"And you felt it was appropriate to group Tony, Henry, Evelyn and Charles together, did you?" she demanded.

Matthew peered at the tablet screen for a moment, then nodded as he looked up at her stern expression. "Well, they all belong to one particular club, don't they?"

"For God's sake, Matthew," she scoffed, pointing at the screen. "'Mary's men'? Honestly!"

"I'll have you know it took me a good minute or two to come up with that," he replied. "I considered 'suitors', 'admirers', and 'fan club'. None of them roll off the tongue the same way though. It's the alliteration, you see; makes all the difference."

"Well, I changed it back to the way it was," she stated. "This list is circulated to all the department heads, as you well know. Making it out to seem as though I've got a bevy of men coming here to see me is ridiculous and unprofessional."

"And yet remarkably accurate, all the same," he noted, arching his eyebrow at her for once.

"Darling, I told you, I didn't have a choice," she sighed, softening her expression and tone. "I couldn't just leave Tony out in the cold. He's one of our highest paying clients and his family is still on good terms with mine. I'm having someone else host him and Mr. Blake, really I am."

"I know you are," he shrugged. "I also know that you're still going to have to greet him at some point, and he's going to make excuses to spend time with you. Between Tony stalking you, Henry looking for a photo op and Evelyn wanting to talk about the latest goings on in the government, you'll be quite busy."

She rolled her eyes and took her tablet back off his desk.

"Well, why didn't you put yourself in the group then?" she asked, searching for some way to defuse the conversation. "You're one of my men too, the most important one, by far."

He smiled at her peace offering. "That's the guest list. I'm not a guest. In a way, this is my party."

"It is," she agreed, getting up from her chair and circling around his desk. "You are the investor who has made the expansion possible."

"Also, if you paid attention, I described their group as 'Mary's men' – small m," he said, smirking as he turned his chair to face her.

"Ah," she said, smiling down at him. "And of course, we both know that you're 'big M', aren't you?"

"It would have been easier to call them 'Mary's boys' I suppose," he said lightly.

"Are you going to be all right with all of this?" she asked. "It's important to me that you are, Matthew, truly."

He lowered his gaze and contemplated his answer for a moment before taking her hand in his and running his thumb over her engagement ring.

"I suppose I have a rather convincing reason to feel entirely secure," he teased, looking up at her playfully. "And I don't really see any of them as true rivals, either."

"Good, because they're not," she said, leaning down and kissing him. "Not even close."

"You'll need to remind me of that in the days and nights leading up to the opening night party," he said, flashing his teeth as he smiled at her.

"Don't worry about that," she said, straightening up and turning away from him. "I actually intend to take a private tour of the sports book before we open, just the two of us."

He blinked in shock and swallowed as she headed for the door.

"Lunch?" she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

"Right behind you," he managed, getting up quickly out of his chair.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, February 2016**

"Over 70% of the bets received so far are on Carolina," Alex said, running his finger across his tablet. "Though we're seeing far more action on Denver than any of our competitors, so that's something, I suppose."

"There was no reason to drop the line after the conference championship games," Matthew noted, typing away at his computer. "I even thought opening at Carolina minus 5.5 was being wrong, and when it went down to 4 from there, that was ridiculous. Six is the correct number, and leaving our line there was clearly the best move since it's come back up."

"Still though, I wouldn't mind seeing a Denver win, given these numbers," Alex replied. "If Carolina blows them out, it could be rather expensive for us."

"Yes, a Denver win would be a nice tidy windfall for us," Matthew agreed, looking up from his computer. "However, we didn't build this business so that a single game could take us down. Look at it this way – everyone who takes money off of us in the Super Bowl is another potential customer who will just gamble it right back with us on something else. That's the beauty of gambling, and sports gambling in particular. Everyone thinks they're an expert, and are just dying to prove it."

Alex smirked and shook his head.

"I have the paperwork that you wanted. I looked it over. It seems all in order, rather straightforward, really," Alex said. "When do you plan on making the announcement."

"I need to tell Mary first, and Sybil," Matthew replied. "I'll wait until after the soft opening. Putting one more thing out there will just stress her out more."

"That sounds appropriate," Alex nodded. "Plus you need more time."

"More time for what?" Matthew asked, frowning at him.

"To figure out how to tell Lady Mary your plans in the least painful way possible," Alex replied.

"Please," Matthew scoffed. "It won't cause her pain."

"I wasn't talking about her," Alex said, smiling at him.

"Mary always knew I wasn't going to be Managing Director over the long term," Matthew said defensively. "She'll be onboard, once she has time to mull it all over."

"Yes, I'm sure she'll be completely fine with her fiancé resigning and pursuing other endeavours without her," Alex laughed.

"I'm not pursuing anything without her," Matthew groaned. "And I'm fully prepared to stay on for as long as it takes to find a suitable replacement."

"She won't let you back in the office," Alex said. "You're jumping ship. You can't expect that she'll provide you with a soft landing. She'll shove you off the plank herself."

"I'm not entirely sure any of those metaphors are either accurate, or helpful," Matthew said pointedly. "Anyway, we don't need to bother with the announcement until the end of the month. Let's leave it and focus on the opening and our Super Bowl party."

"Don't forget that it's Chinese New Year, as well," Alex reminded him.

"Don't you mean Lunar New Year?" Matthew asked. "Calling it Chinese New Year is rather dismissive of the other cultures that celebrate, particularly the Vietnamese who are a significant market for us."

"It was ours to begin with," Alex shrugged. "Everyone else just copied it from us over the centuries."

"You're only a quarter Chinese, you know," Matthew needled him. "And you were born in Manchester, not Beijing."

"That's more than enough," Alex said. "I've celebrated Chinese New Year since I was a child."

"Fair enough. Just don't take that superior attitude with any of our Korean or Vietnamese clients. Mary's gone to great lengths to have all of the signs in the casinos say 'Lunar New Year' so no one gets offended," Matthew said.

"Understood," Alex nodded, holding his hands up in acknowledgment.

 **Valentino Boutique, Sloane Street, Kensington, London, England, February 2016**

Mary turned left and right, looking at her reflection in the large mirror. She arched her back and pushed her ass out, observing how the silhouette of her dress fell across her body.

"Is the slit supposed to go that high?" Anna asked, watching from a few feet away.

"It's a traditional length," Mary replied, turning again and looking at the lines of floral embroidery that stretched across her chest and others parts of the dress. "I quite like it, actually. Without them, I imagine it would be quite difficult to walk."

"I suppose," Anna said nervously.

"You don't need to get one, you know," Mary said airily. "Some would accuse us of cultural appropriation if we all wore Chinese dresses just for the Lunar New Year celebration."

"No, I have to," Anna nodded determinedly. "And I want to. It's Alex's New Year. He's observed it since he was a child. It's only right that I respect that part of him and his heritage."

"Are you sure that he's so fastidious about custom and tradition, or does he just want to see you in a tight fitting Chinese dress?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow at Anna's reflection in the mirror.

"Even still, that's not a reason not to wear one," Anna said, smiling to herself.

Mary laughed.

"Anyway, the dress is the least of my worries. I want to cook something traditional for him, but I'm terrified he'll hate it," Anna sighed.

"I didn't even bother troubling Daisy with putting together a special menu," Mary noted. "We're having some select dishes catered in. What are you making?"

"I was going to surprise him with Peking duck but there's no way I can do that properly," Anna said, shaking her head. "I'm doing a traditional Winter Melon soup, sea bass and noodles. I think I've got everything I need but who knows? I've never made Chinese before."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate the effort," Mary said encouragingly. "He can't expect you'll be perfect at it on the first go."

"I know," Anna groaned. "Even if it tastes like shit, he'd still grin and bear it. But I want him to really enjoy it, and be impressed, even."

"Anna, come on," Mary said, turning to face her and smirking. "You're putting far too much pressure on yourself. Do you honestly think that Alex will love you less if you can't cook Chinese food?"

"No, of course not," Anna scoffed. "But I don't want him to think that all I can do is make Mum's roast recipe and Yorkshire pudding and…white food! His culture is important to me, and I want him to know that."

Mary smiled at her.

"It seems to me that you're scared that your Chinese cooking skills will impact upon whether Alex sees you as wife material or not," Mary said quietly. "That sounds rather ridiculous, don't you think? He adores you, Anna."

"I know, I know," Anna said in frustration. "I just…don't want to leave anything to chance."

"I'm sure it's just a matter of time," Mary said kindly. "You said that your trip to France was wonderful, and you were essentially living like a married couple for a month there."

"Yes, we were," Anna said. "That's why I was hoping he was going to propose when we were there, or shortly after we got back, but he hasn't mentioned it at all."

"Most men don't," Mary said. "Maybe he's waiting to do it on Valentine's?"

"Maybe," Anna shrugged, looking down at the floor. "I don't need anything special like that, I just need him to ask me!"

"I could ask Matthew what Alex's intentions are, if you like," Mary suggested.

"No, no, please don't do that!" Anna said, shaking her head. "I don't want to be like one of those girls who drops hints and goes all mental over it. I'll just have to wait."

Mary smiled at her sympathetically. They dropped the subject as the store clerk came back to check on how Mary's fitting was going. Taking one last look in the mirror, Mary smiled in satisfaction.

"It's perfect," she declared. "I'll take it with me."

"Very good, Lady Mary," the clerk said, nodding her head enthusiastically.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2016**

Mary smiled as she looked into the bright lights. The fourth politician to speak was wrapping up his remarks, glowing with praise over how beautiful the expansion of the casino looked, how it had created jobs and would improve tourism for the City. Normally, the government didn't want to overtly show support for the gambling industry, but given the media coverage of the opening night gala and the fact that the expansion was truly a one-of-a-kind space for all of Great Britain, there was no way that the City's elected representatives weren't going to grab some of the spotlight.

She smiled and nodded politely as the gathered crowd applauded at the end of the politician's speech. They had already cut a giant red ribbon to officially open the doors of the expansion, though technically the grand opening was still months off for when Mama and Papa would be back. The large crowd dispersed and went around trying out the new table games and machines, as well as Matthew's sports book. Waiters and servers circulated with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Mary shared a toast with the gathered officials, then made her excuses, leaving smoothly from the group and heading out to tour the new casino floor.

She glanced all around and smiled as she went, nodding patiently as she accepted congratulations from well-wishers and compliments on her designer gown. Spotting Edith and Bertie by the bar, she made her way over and greeted both of them.

"Lord Hexham can serve as a witness because this is a very rare moment," Mary teased, lifting her champagne flute to her sister. "Thank you for all of your hard work, Edith. It's all turned out better than I expected."

Edith blinked in shock, then lifted her own champagne glass and clinked it with her sister's. "Is that because you are impressed with my work, or because your expectations for me were rather low?"

"Let's not spoil the moment," Mary said, arching her eyebrow as she sipped her drink.

Edith laughed and nodded her head.

"Why don't you take Lord Hexham on a tour?" Mary suggested, looking at Edith knowingly. "You can let him in on some of the design secrets."

Edith blinked.

"I would like that, if you're up for it, that is," Bertie said.

"Of course," Edith said. "We can start with the terraces."

Edith turned Bertie towards the stairs, then glanced back nervously at Mary.

Mary nodded encouragingly at her sister, and smiled as Edith took Bertie's arm and smiled at him bravely, beginning to point out various parts of the expansion.

* * *

"Mr. Crawley," Charles said, coming up and shaking Matthew's hand.

"Mr. Blake," Matthew replied politely. "Thank you for coming. I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"I am," Charles said cheerfully. "Tony's up a few thousand quid so he's elated."

"How nice for him," Matthew said.

"I wanted to thank you properly," Charles said. "For all of your help with Sir Richard back in the summer. I wanted to grab him in full view of everyone, to send a bit of a message, but looking back now, I think it was handled far better the way you suggested. If he has been shamed that night in front of a crowd of such powerful and influential people, it would have made it all the more harder to resolve the matter."

"Did you settle with him, then?" Matthew asked. "I haven't heard of any sentence being handed down."

"We're putting the finishing touches on all the approvals that we need, but we do have a deal with him, yes," Charles confirmed. "It's not official, but ultimately it will be a record penalty and recovery for HMRC."

"Well, congratulations, Mr. Blake," Matthew said.

"Thank you. You know, there are a couple things about that night that have nagged at me since then, though," Charles said.

"Oh?" Matthew replied, looking at the government official carefully.

"Yes, you see, with all the commotion of that night and dealing with him in the months that followed, I never found out why he was so insistent on seeing you, in particular. Why did he track you down, and how did you know that he would?" Charles asked.

"We're business rivals, Mr. Blake," Matthew explained, weighing his words, but trying to make it appear as though he wasn't. "Sir Richard and I never particularly got along. We didn't know each other for very long, but it seems he got it in his head that I was a threat to his business. Apparently we cut into his market share, at least compared to what we had achieved before. He wanted to enter into a joint venture with Crawley Group and he knew I was against it. He may have wanted to try and convince me to change my mind."

"Ah, I see," Charles nodded. "So it was just business that drew him to you that night?"

"What else could it have been?" Matthew asked.

"What else indeed?" Charles asked rhetorically.

"Well, do enjoy yourself tonight, Mr. Blake, and let us know when you wish to come back," Matthew said.

"Oh, just one other thing, Mr. Crawley," Charles said, drawing Matthew's attention. "Something else I was thinking about was what was so particular about Sir Richard that would cause him to evade paying his full taxes for so many years."

"I expect greed had a lot to do with it," Matthew said.

"Certainly that, yes," Charles agreed. "But really, nothing differentiates Sir Richard from most of the guests who were at Grantham House that night. I'm sure almost all of them wouldn't mind saving a few million quid here and there by underreporting the annual revenues of their companies, the same way that Sir Richard did."

"I expect that the vast majority of the British people wouldn't mind paying less in taxes, Mr. Blake," Matthew stated.

"Yes, yes, of course," Charles laughed. "But there's a difference between wanting to pay fewer taxes and having the resources and wherewithal to pay less and hide it."

"So you're saying that you don't think Sir Richard was the only offender present at the party?" Matthew asked.

"That's right," Charles said, holding his gaze. "We don't have anything to go on at the moment, but we're going to do our investigations and dig around a bit, as we did with Carlisle World Media Group, and see what might turn up."

"Lord Grantham won't be pleased to hear that. Many of the guests are old family friends, and all of them are colleagues," Matthew said.

"Yes, it can be a bit shocking when one finds out that the person they knew isn't who he seemed to be," Charles said.

"Well, good luck with your investigations," Matthew said. "Mr. Blake."

"Mr. Crawley," Charles nodded, watching as Matthew walked away.


	38. Chapter 38

**Previously:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2016**

"Well, do enjoy yourself tonight, Mr. Blake, and let us know when you wish to come back," Matthew said.

"Oh, just one other thing, Mr. Crawley," Charles said, drawing Matthew's attention. "Something else I was thinking about was what was so particular about Sir Richard that would cause him to evade paying his full taxes for so many years."

"I expect greed had a lot to do with it," Matthew said.

"Certainly that, yes," Charles agreed. "But really, nothing differentiates Sir Richard from most of the guests who were at Grantham House that night. I'm sure almost all of them wouldn't mind saving a few million quid here and there by underreporting the annual revenues of their companies, the same way that Sir Richard did."

"I expect that the vast majority of the British people wouldn't mind paying less in taxes, Mr. Blake," Matthew stated.

"Yes, yes, of course," Charles laughed. "But there's a difference between wanting to pay fewer taxes and having the resources and wherewithal to pay less and hide it."

"So you're saying that you don't think Sir Richard was the only offender present at the party?" Matthew asked.

"That's right," Charles said, holding his gaze. "We don't have anything to go on at the moment, but we're going to do our investigations and dig around a bit, as we did with Carlisle World Media Group, and see what might turn up."

"Well, good luck with that," Matthew said. "Mr. Blake."

"Mr. Crawley," Charles nodded, watching as Matthew walked away.

 **Chapter 38:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 2016**

"You're sure that you're all right with all of this?" Matthew asked, leaning against one of the bedposts of Mary's bed.

"Of course I'm sure," Mary replied, smiling at him through the reflection of her vanity mirror as she put on her earrings. "It isn't as though I expected you to remain Managing Director indefinitely. I know it was never your lifelong ambition."

"Yes, but I just don't want you to feel as though I'm leaving you in the early days of your Presidency, or that I'm throwing this at you out of the blue when we have the Lunar New Year and Super Bowl tomorrow night. I was going to wait a while longer, but seeing as we're meeting with your sisters, I wanted to deal with it now. I'll stay on as long as you need, until you find a suitable replacement, or perhaps you'll reorganize the executive, and I can help with that…" he said, trying to sound cheerful and supportive.

"Darling," she smiled, getting up and turning towards him. "The timing really doesn't matter. I am perfectly capable of running the company without you. You're very good at your job, but you're not indispensable."

"Ah…" he replied. "You don't think it's too much, too soon?"

"Not at all," she said lightly. "The truth is that when Papa was President, he wasn't nearly as involved in the daily operations, which is why a Vice-President and a Managing Director were required. I'm far more hands-on than he ever was, so your position has become a bit redundant, actually."

"Redundant?" he blinked in surprise. "Ah, well, that's…good."

"Oh God, is your ego hurt now because I'm not distraught over this?" she teased, coming up to him and putting her arms across his shoulders. "You're the one who's resigning. I'm only trying to put you at ease that we won't fall apart without you, is all."

"Of course, yes, obviously I know that," he said, his hands moving up to hold her by her hips. "I was just hoping you'd be a little bit more…put out…to see me go, is all."

"Were you hoping I would try and convince you to stay?" she asked, watching him closely.

"I wouldn't have minded seeing you make a token effort," he said, swallowing sheepishly.

"A token effort," she said, smirking and nodding her head. "I think you sprang this on me now because you wanted me to beg."

"No, of course not," he said, frowning and looking away.

"No?" she asked, moving her head so he could not avoid her eyes. "You weren't hoping that I would be overwhelmed with all of tomorrow's events and having just dealt with the soft opening gala that I would throw my hands up and plead for you to stay? You didn't think about me possibly offering to do anything you wanted to sway you to change your mind?"

"Maybe just a little," he admitted, tightening his grip around her waist.

She laughed and kissed him quickly.

"Perhaps under other circumstances I would be rather angry with you, or terrified. But it isn't as if you're leaving, is it? Not truly," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "I may be losing my Managing Director, but I'm gaining a husband. Not a bad swap, that."

He chuckled and pulled her close, kissing her slowly and leisurely.

"And it isn't as though you're giving it all up," she continued, smiling at him. "You'll still be around, and knowing you, you'll still be involved on some level. You can't just sit on the sidelines and watch when you know you have something to contribute."

"I suppose," he said, smiling easily now. "Have you given any thought to how you'll divide up the responsibilities? You were already thinking about it when you were promoted."

"I do want to make Anna Vice-President," she said, patting his chest and stepping away from him. "She's more than earned it and she's basically doing the job already, handling most of the daily duties for Crockfords and the Colony Club. I might just have a short transition period and see how we get on without you before I consider bringing anyone else in. The Board won't want another non-family member involved. They were reluctant with you as it was."

"And I'm essentially family," he joked.

"Not yet, you're not," she retorted, heading for the door. "Well, shall we go?"

He nodded and came to her side, opening the door and holding it open for her to go through into the hall.

"I'm surprised that you spoke to me before you had a chance to talk to Sybil first," Mary said, taking his arm as they made their way towards the stairs. "You could end up caught out, you know."

"How so?" he asked, looking at her in confusion. "You don't think that she'll refuse?"

"Well, if she does, then you'll be on your own without a single Crawley sister to keep you company," she said, smiling at him as they went downstairs.

"During business hours, you mean," he said, looking at her pointedly.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," she conceded.

"She won't say no," he said as they reached the foyer and turned towards the back of the house. "She wouldn't."

"Yes, because Sybil always does what's expected, especially when a man tries to tell her what to do," Mary said sarcastically.

He grunted in annoyance and escorted Mary through to the dining room.

"There you are," Edith said, looking up from her seat. "What is this meeting all about?"

"Your text was so vague. Family business? What's that mean?" Sybil asked, walking over and sitting down in her usual chair.

"I thought it was entirely clear. We're here to discuss the family business," Matthew said, sitting down at the head of the table.

"Among other things," Mary added, taking a chair across the table from her sisters.

Bates came into the dining room with tea and scones for the four of them. After milk and sugar was added and strawberry jam and clotted cream spread, the valet took his leave and closed the doors behind him. All eyes turned to Matthew.

"I invited Violet and Rosamund to join us, but both of them declined," he explained. "This isn't an official meeting of the Board of Directors anyway. The purpose is to discuss the future of Crawley Group, as well as a new venture."

"We're discussing the future of the company, and Granny and Aunt Rosamund don't care to be here?" Edith asked.

"They already know what we're going to talk to the both of you about," Mary said. "They both felt that attending in person would be unnecessary. Suffice it to say that they're both on board."

"What does this have to do with me? I couldn't care less what is going on with Crawley Group," Sybil groaned. "No offence, of course."

"Of course," Mary said, rolling her eyes and smiling at her sister. "Whether you like it or not, you are a Crawley, Sybil. What we do in the company affects you, and your future."

Sybil huffed and took another sip of her tea.

"With Mary now President and Robert no longer chairman of the Board and majority shareholder, we can finally turn our attention to a rather delicate topic that Robert, and all the Earls before him refused to address," Matthew explained.

"Which is?" Edith asked, frowning at him.

"The company tax policy," Mary declared, eyeing both of her sisters.

"You're going to put things to rights!" Sybil exclaimed, her mouth falling open. "Finally!"

"No, at least not the way you're thinking," Mary said sympathetically.

"Oh," Sybil said dismissively, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest.

"As we all know, the company has been rather particular about its accounting practices over the decades," Matthew said wryly. "Even if we did want to fix that now, it just isn't financially feasible for us to go back and pay what the government might say we owe."

"The company can afford it, you just don't want to," Sybil scoffed.

"The company could pay it if we did a deal, if the interest dating back to the First World War was forgiven, and if we sold all our properties, save for one or two, and we shut down Edith's division and sold all of Downton," Mary replied. "Even then, once word got out, we'd be hard pressed to maintain any sort of client base and we'd likely be in administration within a year or two. Sybil, darling, even you can't want that."

Sybil rolled her eyes.

"For now, we know that we're not under investigation," Matthew said. "Carlisle honoured the code and did not tell HMRC anything about us or anyone else. Having said that, Charles Blake is still keen to look into the lives and backgrounds of all known associates and competitors of Carlisle World Media Group, which means Crawley Group is not out of the woods yet. He implied as much at the party the other night."

"He told you that he's coming after us?" Edith asked.

"Not in so many words, but whether he is, or he isn't, it is a possibility. We know he's looking into companies that have relied on old money, and the investigation into Carlisle will only have whet his appetite," Matthew said.

"Even if we did manage to escape Mr. Blake's scrutiny, the risk will always remain that someone down the line will come after us," Mary said. "Be it the government, or a business rival, or even some organization that wants to take over one of our territories; there will always be threats."

"That would be true if we were legitimate or not," Edith said. "I bid all the time against companies that have nowhere near the history that we do."

"Exactly," Matthew agreed, looking at Sybil pointedly. "Which is why we're not so much concerned about eliminating all risk completely, but rather managing it going forward in a more progressive manner than what Robert was prepared to do."

"What are you planning on doing? Using threats and bribes to force the authorities and our rivals to leave us alone?" Sybil asked.

"No," Matthew said, smiling at her. "I was thinking more of a change in strategy."

"Matthew's tendered his resignation," Mary announced. "There will be a brief transition period, but his days as Managing Director are soon to be over."

"What?" Edith blurted out in shock.

"Why?" Sybil asked incredulously.

"I've decided to start my own operation," Matthew said, looking at each of the Crawley sisters. "One that doesn't involve gambling, or any illegal activity or any kind."

"What about your websites?" Edith asked.

"Those will continue, but I expect I'll leave more and more of the daily operations to Rose and her team," Matthew nodded. "I never had much of a profile with them anyway, so I'll just slide further into the background. Really, the websites run themselves for the most part. It's all done by computers, you know. No real skill required."

Mary rolled her eyes as Edith and Sybil grinned over at her.

"Anyway, I'll still be involved with Crawley Group for the next while," Matthew said. "It's just that gradually I'll devote more of my time to this new venture."

"Well, if it's going to be completely above board, then good for you, Matthew," Sybil said, smiling at him. "Perhaps eventually you can convince Mary to do the same."

"Not likely," Mary remarked.

Matthew looked at her and raised his eyebrow.

"All right," Mary sighed. "What you both need to know is that we're going to be more…honest…about the way we do business from now on. We won't apologize for anything in the past, but for now, while operations are profitable, we won't need to be as creative in our accounting practices."

"And Granny and Aunt Rosamund are on side with that?" Edith asked.

"They aren't nearly as particular about following past practices as you would expect," Matthew said. "As much as they both hate paying money to the government, they hate the idea of being under investigation and the family name being dragged into scandal more. And to be honest, neither of them need to be worried about the future profits of the company. They're both set for the rest of their lives as it is. So long as there's sufficient funds for them to keep up their lifestyle, which there is, what we do with the rest of it isn't as important to them."

"Well, that's something, at least," Sybil admitted, looking at Mary. "It's not ideal, but I'm glad you aren't being as stubborn as Papa."

"Hang on," Edith said, looking at Matthew. "If Mary's going to steer the company into being more law-abiding, then why are you resigning?"

"What new venture are you getting into?" Sybil asked.

"I'm going to create a charitable foundation," Matthew said. "It's going to be a sort of charity venture capital firm. I'll raise money from investors, but the company won't be set on any individual cause. Rather, we'll review a number of different initiatives each year that are in need of funds and determine where our money should be donated. Hopefully, we'll develop a portfolio of charities over time, with money going to a variety of worthy causes, thereby doing the most good."

Sybil's mouth fell open.

"That's…quite ambitious of you," Edith said slowly.

"It's brilliant," Sybil managed finally. "You'll be able to pitch to investors that for one donation they are helping a number of different causes, which will make it harder for them to say no to you, since there's sure to be something within the portfolio that they care about."

"Exactly," Matthew said, smiling at her.

"Matthew's decided to name it The Dr. Reginald Crawley Charitable Foundation," Mary said, smiling at her fiancé proudly. "The first two causes that he's chosen to support are Doctors Without Borders and the Manchester Royal Infirmary charity trust, two organizations that were very dear to his father's heart."

"Oh, Matthew," Edith said, smiling at him. "That's wonderful."

"Truly," Sybil agreed, feeling herself tear up a little bit. "I know it doesn't involve sports, or casinos, or anything like that, but you're going to do so much good. I imagine that having a job, a real job that helps people, is going to be so fulfilling."

"Yes I expect it will be," Matthew said, looking directly at her. "Especially if I have someone I can trust at my side."

Sybil blinked.

Mary smirked at her.

Edith looked from Matthew to Mary to Sybil, understanding dawning upon her.

"What?" Sybil asked, looking at Mary, then back at Matthew. "Wait a minute…me?"

"Yes, you," Mary laughed. "Matthew's offering you a position on the Board of his new foundation."

"As well as the office of Vice-President, Major Projects," Matthew added. "You'll fill in during your spare time while you're still in school, and after graduation, you can move up to full time. I won't be able to review and evaluate everyone who comes knocking on my door looking for money, and even those who we agree to support will need to be visited every so often so we can see the actual impact of our donations. So, who better than a keen, well-educated, somewhat annoyingly righteous, mobile, young woman to handle those important tasks?"

"Me?" Sybil sputtered.

Edith laughed and shook her head.

"Did you have other plans for after graduation?" Mary asked innocently.

"I…" Sybil swallowed. "I told you that I didn't want to work for you."

"You said that you wouldn't just take my money, and you won't be," Matthew corrected her. "This way, you actually have to work for it, or are you now saying that you refuse to work for me even though that work would be for the good of dozens of charities and causes across the world?"

Sybil just stared at him in shock.

"You know, darling, there are surely many other worthy candidates who would jump at the chance," Mary said to Matthew, a slight smirk across her lips. "Perhaps you should have a formal hiring process? Nepotism can be so ugly sometimes."

"I'll take it! I'll take it," Sybil said, her voice shaking. "Thank you, Matthew."

"Excellent," Matthew said pleasantly. "Your first task is to organize our announcement for the end of the month. We'll need a press release and I expect there will be a number of calls we'll need to field once we have proper office premises and all that. Mary has generously allowed us to use Anna should we need to, so you can coordinate with her."

"All right," Sybil said, her mind still spinning.

"Where will you get the capital to get started?" Edith asked. "You're going to fund the operation yourself?"

"At first, yes," Matthew confirmed. "And I'm in very high-level talks with a major corporate donor that I am optimistic will come on board very shortly."

"Don't be so sure of yourself," Mary teased, arching her eyebrow at him. "I've heard that the President of this supposed corporate donor is a very tough negotiator."

"Oh, she definitely is," Matthew replied. "But I think I've got the measure of her."

"So typical of a man to assume he's got a woman all figured out," Mary shot back. "You just think you can flash those baby blue eyes of yours and she'll swoon, do you?"

"I wasn't thinking of that, no, but if flashing will do the trick, then why not?" he answered.

"Do the two of you want to go back upstairs or should Sybil and I just leave the dining room and close the doors for a while?" Edith asked, shaking her head.

Mary and Matthew shared a knowing look before resuming a more professional demeanour.

"Wait, Crawley Group is going to donate to your venture?" Sybil asked.

"Crawley Group _may_ donate to the foundation," Mary said. "Out of respect for Dr. Crawley. I always admired him, and he was very dear to Papa, of course."

"And in return, you'll get a very useful tax credit," Edith said, smiling at her older sister. "As well as the goodwill and positive publicity. That's quite brilliant."

"Just because we make a generous donation won't protect us entirely," Mary said. "But it is in keeping with trying to be a better corporate citizen, and every bit helps. The more we can do to distinguish the company from operations like Sir Richard's, the better. It isn't a guarantee by any means, but if it perhaps gives someone pause to come after us down the road, then why not?"

"So, the takeaway from all this is you'll need to review your operations, Edith," Matthew said. "Record keeping, accounting, invoicing and collections, all of it. We're going to change things so that our past transgressions are that much harder to discover and our operations going forward will hopefully be more above reproach."

"Got it," Edith nodded, making a note on her tablet. "I'll have my office coordinate with yours, Mary."

"Good," Mary said. "And Sybil, you'll touch base with Anna on your assignments from Matthew."

"And you can call Rose and give her the good news," Matthew said. "She'll be managing the technology side to get us going."

"Thank you, both," Mary said, declaring the meeting over and sipping her tea.

Edith and Sybil both got out of their chairs and headed for the door. Sybil stopped and hugged Matthew before leaving.

"See?" Matthew said, looking at Mary smugly. "I told you she would accept."

"If you're going to make a remark about how Crawley women can't say no to you, don't," Mary warned, holding her tea cup just below her mouth. "It's just as likely that Sybil was desperate for a job, rather than anything to do with you."

"Is that so?" Matthew said, grinning at her. "Then what's your excuse?"

"For this, you mean?" Mary teased, flicking her finger, her engagement ring sparkling under the lights of the chandelier above. "I haven't quite figured it out yet. I suppose one must marry someone."

Matthew laughed as she sipped her tea and put her cup back down. Rising from his chair, he stepped around the table and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Why don't you come upstairs and we'll see if we can't come up with a better reason than that?" he drawled.

"You're rather bold for someone who's just joined the ranks of the unemployed," Mary said casually, trying to appear unaffected by his words, and tone, and stare, and failing miserably.

"Of course I am," he replied easily, leaning in so his breath was warm against her skin. "Since we both know that you would never marry for money, and I no longer have a position, then there must be something else about me that you find attractive, and I think we'll enjoy finding out what that is."

Unable to stop herself from smiling, she got up out of her chair and took his hand, the two of them leaving the dining room and heading for the foyer and the stairs, walking as gracefully as their brisk speed would allow.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, February 2016**

Anna bit her lower lip nervously. She turned her head side to side, checking to make sure her hair was the way she wanted and that her makeup was acceptable. Normally she wasn't too fussy about her appearance before special events at work, generally sticking with a select group of outfits, the tamer and more conservative, the better. Mary was the star of their operation, the one who was always at the forefront. Anna was happy to just do her job and not draw too much attention. Tonight, though, it was important that her hair, makeup and dress were perfect. It wasn't her first Lunar New Year celebration. The Crawley Group casinos had been promoting the holiday to their Asian clients for years now. However, tonight was the first time she was personally invested in the annual event, and had gone to such lengths.

She took a deep breath and ran her hands along the smooth white silk of her cheongsam dress. The embroidered red and pink cherry blossoms ran from her neck all the way down to the hem just above her ankles. When she went for her fitting, she was given the option of a shorter dress that stopped at mid-thigh, but she opted for the more traditional length. It wasn't as though the longer dress was any less revealing. The slits on either side went up well above her knees.

Fixing a determined look on her face that she didn't quite feel, she turned away from the mirror and went out into the hallway, heading back towards the living room.

"Finally," Alex said, staring at his mobile. "I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so…"

He blinked and stopped talking when he looked up and saw her come into the room.

"Do you like it?" Anna asked, rubbing her hands together as she anxiously awaited his appraisal.

"I…" he muttered, his eyes moving down her dress and back up to her face. Her blonde hair was parted and pulled back, then twisted into a rather intricate plaited bun that fell past her ears and was held together by thin chopsticks. With her hair pulled back, the diamond link earrings he had given her last Valentine's Day contrasted nicely against her skin.

"It's the hair, isn't it?" she said, panicking slightly. "It's too much? The chopsticks? Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have used them."

"No, no," Alex said, raising his hand and taking a step towards her. "You look gorgeous, love, really. I…I can't believe you went to all this effort."

She smiled, her confidence restored.

"Well, I did it for Mary and the clients, not you," she said playfully.

"Not even a little bit for me?" he asked, reaching out to embrace her and looking down at her dress again.

"Maybe a little bit for you," she allowed, tilting her head up and kissing him. "Shall we go?"

"Just a second," he said, kissing her again. He then lifted his phone and turned on the camera. "A few photos, first."

Anna laughed and leaned into him, smiling happily as he took a series of selfies.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, February 2016**

Matthew walked around the casino floor, observing the guests as he went. The place was filled to capacity, even including the expansion. Baccarat and Pai Gow were particularly popular, and the High Limit Room had a waiting list. London had a healthy Asian population, as well as all the tourists who came in during the year. It felt as if they all had congregated here for their New Year's Eve.

"So you cut your hair. What about cleaning?" he asked.

"My flat was cleaned yesterday," Alex replied, stepping deftly out of the way of an enthusiastic client who came rushing up the aisle with a tray of the special red Year of the Monkey poker chips that the casino was selling tonight.

"Very good," Matthew said, nodding his head. "And after midnight?"

"I'll have Anna walk in first," Alex replied. "Her luck's better than mine."

"I agree," Matthew laughed. "How was dinner?"

"It was really good, actually," Alex said, smiling at the memory. "The soup, the fish, everything was quite well done."

"Good. From what Mary told me, Anna was in a panic all week over it," Matthew said.

"She didn't need to be," Alex said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not like I would expect her to even know what to make, let alone to do it so well on her first try."

"Yes, but she still wanted it to go well," Matthew said. "You didn't make such a big deal of it last year."

"Well, last year we just went out," Alex said. "Plus last year it was so close to Valentine's."

"Right," Matthew agreed.

"This is quite the turnout," Alex said as they wandered into the expansion area. "Lady Mary must be pleased."

"She is," Matthew said. "I think a part of her is still nervous about our party guests."

"Well, they're all behaving themselves so far," Alex said. "Kickoff is in another hour."

"If you need to skip out at midnight, go right ahead," Matthew said. "I doubt I'll stay for the entire game myself."

"Thanks," Alex acknowledged. "I've got a few clients coming, so I'll spend some time with them, but I'll probably get out of here around halftime. Lady Mary should let Anna go, no?"

"I'll put in a good word for you," Matthew joked, smiling as they headed for the sports book.

* * *

"He liked it, he said so himself," Anna mumbled. "I'm sure he did. It seemed like he did."

"Of course he did," Mary said, frowning at her. "Come on, Anna. You're being quite pathetic, you know."

"I know," Anna groaned. "I really am."

"What did he think of your dress and your hair?" Mary asked as she nodded and smiled at a rather enthusiastic gambler who was waving at her from one of the tables.

"He was speechless for a moment, actually," Anna replied. "He said he liked it. He said I looked gorgeous."

"You do," Mary said. "I wish I'd done my hair like yours."

Anna smiled at the compliment, though she had a hard time believing it. In addition to her custom-made Valentino cheongsam gown, Mary had her hair in a French twist tied with a jade and diamond barrette. She obviously didn't look Asian, and wasn't trying to, but the sleek lines of her dress and her elegant jewellery still had the desired effect of making her look exotic and glamourous.

"William says we've been at capacity for hours now," Anna said, glancing around the High Limit Room. "This could be a record setting night, it's well above what we pulled in last year."

"Well, we didn't have the expansion space last year, but yes, you're right," Mary said. "The extra promotion and decorating and all the rest of it has seemingly paid off quite handsomely."

"And what about Mr. Crawley's Super Bowl party?" Anna asked.

"I went by earlier. They're all behaving themselves, but then the actual game hasn't started yet. I expect it will be quite loud once it does. Did you know they bet on such ridiculous things as whether the coin flip will be heads or tails, and how long the anthem will take to sing?"

"Alex was explaining it all to me," Anna said. "It's kind of fun, though. It makes it so there's something to get excited about for the entire game."

"Wagering thousands of pounds on a coin flip," Mary said derisively, shaking her head. "There's a message in there somewhere."

"Lady Mary, Mr. Li has asked that you play the next hand with him and his guests," a hostess said, nodding to Mary politely.

"I'd be delighted. Make sure all of their drinks are refilled and bring over my usual," Mary said, smiling knowingly at Anna before heading over to a table in the corner full of Chinese businessmen.

* * *

"Mr. Ryder," Matthew said, shaking the man's hand. "Welcome. I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"I am, I am," the larger man said enthusiastically, nodding and taking a swig of his beer. "You've got quite the setup here, Mr. Crawley. Reminds me a bit of Las Vegas."

"That's intentional," Matthew said, smiling knowingly. "We looked at the setup at your casino, as well as at the Bellagio, and came up with our own version."

"Well, you've got a tremendous turnout," Mr. Ryder said. "I can only imagine what you're taking in, and at 11 at night, too. Impressive."

"There's no question that the NFL is getting more and more popular over here, and not just with ex-pats," Alex noted. "Years ago, who would have guessed that they would be playing regular season games here? Now, I don't think an expansion franchise would be out of question."

"I don't know about that, but there's a market here, no doubt," Mr. Ryder said. "And what about the two of you? You're both happy starting up here?"

Alex glanced at Matthew questioningly before looking back at Mr. Ryder.

"I know I'm here for the long term," Matthew said easily. "I've just become engaged, actually."

"Ah, yes, to Lady Mary," Mr. Ryder said. "Congratulations."

Matthew nodded in thanks.

"Well, if either of you ever think about broadening your horizons, let me know," Mr. Ryder said. "Wynn could use some forward-thinking men like you. We're opening a new property in Macau and eventually we'd like to have a bit of a network across all of our casinos, and we could use a couple of guys to set it all up."

"A worldwide sports book," Alex said.

"Something like that," Mr. Ryder said. "We've got to do something to fight back against these underground websites."

"We'll keep it in mind," Matthew said, shaking the man's hand. "Enjoy the game."

Mr. Ryder went back to drinking and Alex and Matthew walked away.

"Did he just offer us jobs?" Alex asked quietly.

"He floated the idea," Matthew replied. "It's not an option for me, but it's nice to be wanted."

"It's not an option for me either," Alex said firmly.

"Well, keep an open mind about your future," Matthew advised. "I know you came here because I asked you to, and with my role now changing, I hope you understand that you're under no obligation to hang around."

"Right," Alex replied sarcastically. "Because the only reason I have to stay here is you."

Matthew laughed. "Come on, they're about to start the anthem."

* * *

"This entire space is very impressive, Lady Mary. It's more modern, while still blending in well with the older building. Very long overdue, and very well done."

"Thank you, Mr. Li," Mary said, smiling and nodding to the client. "We're quite pleased with it."

"And so you should be," Mr. Li said. "We are currently reviewing operations at Venetian Macao. I believe that a significant makeover is required. Revenues across all casinos have been down for some time. I think a new vision is needed."

"That sounds like a rather interesting challenge," Mary said carefully.

"It is, and a significant opportunity for the right person," Mr. Li noted, then glanced down at his cards.

"If I didn't know better, Mr. Li, I would say you were offering me a job," Mary said, arching her eyebrow at him as she called the bet on the table.

"Consider it more of a partnership," Mr. Li replied. "I wouldn't expect you to leave Crawley Group."

"And you would be right," Mary said easily.

"But perhaps you would consider a consulting arrangement," Mr. Li remarked. "Macau has slightly better weather than England."

Mary laughed and took a sip of her vodka and tonic.

"I'm willing to allow you to try and impress me," she said finally, returning to the card game.

 **Home of Alex Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, February 2016**

"Come on, love, focus," Alex said, handing her his keys as he led her towards the front door of his flat, his arm around her waist.

"All right, all right," Anna said, laughing as she fiddled with the keys, looking for the house key. "I still don't understand what's so important about this."

"I told you," he said in exasperation. "It's officially the New Year now. The first person through the door sets whether or not the home will be lucky and prosperous for the entire year."

"And what's wrong with you being the first inside the house to start the New Year?" she asked as they reached the door.

"You're luckier than I am," he explained, nodding towards the door.

"I don't see how," she laughed, unlocking the door and opening it before them.

"Don't fall, now," he said cautiously.

"I'm not drunk!" she scolded him. Stepping across the threshold, she went into the foyer and raised her arms, turning around to face him. "There. Happy?"

"Very," he said, coming in and closing the door behind him. "Happy New Year."

"Mmm, Happy New Year," she said, kissing him lightly before she took off her heels and let him take off her coat. "What year are you, anyway?"

"Dragon," he replied. "And you're a Rabbit."

"Rabbit? Really?" she said, contemplating it a bit as they walked into the living room. "That's not bad."

"Would you prefer Monkey? Goat? Horse, perhaps?" he asked, sitting down on the sofa and reaching for the bowl of clementines placed on the coffee table.

"No, no, and no," she said, sitting down and snuggling next to him. "Rabbit sounds fine."

He chuckled as he went about peeling a clementine.

"I assume there's a significance to this?" she asked, watching as he managed to peel the entire skin in one piece.

"The orange colour symbolizes gold, so the fruit represents good fortune," he explained, separating out the wedges and feeding one to her. "But I just like the taste, mainly."

She laughed as she ate the fruit from his fingers.

"Drink?" he asked.

"Water, please," she requested.

He kissed her forehead, then got up off the sofa to go and get their drinks. He took off his suit jacket on the way and threw it on a chair.

"Did you get these from the casino tonight?" she asked, looking at two small red envelopes with Chinese characters written on them sitting on the coffee table.

"Did I get what?" he asked from the kitchen.

"These red envelopes," she called back, picking them up. "We were giving them out to some of the guests, with the lucky poker chip inside."

"I didn't get any red envelopes at Crockfords tonight," Alex said, frowning as he came back in with their drinks. He handed her a glass and sat back down on the sofa.

Anna turned the envelopes over and glanced at them. "They're not from Crockfords. We had the casino logo printed on the back of ours. This one's got your name on it, and this one's mine."

"Oh, right," Alex said, nodding as he took his red envelope. "The cleaning lady left these yesterday. She's Vietnamese."

"Well, that's nice," she said, smiling at her red envelope. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for her to give it to me personally."

"Actually, you're supposed to wish her a Happy New Year before she gives it to you," he noted. "But yes, now that I remember, she specifically told me to make sure you got this and that she wished you good luck and much happiness for the New Year."

"Hmm," she said, looking at the red envelope intently. She ran her fingers over it and frowned. "It doesn't feel like there's any coins in it. God, I hope she didn't actually give me any real money."

"Why not?" he asked. "It's traditional to do so."

"Because I know how cheap you can be and I expect she can't afford it," she teased.

"Whatever," Alex said, rolling his eyes. "You could say that's from me, since she probably paid you out of the bonus I gave her. Go on, open it and see how much you got."

Anna carefully opened the top of the envelope and peered inside, finding a folded piece of paper.

"It's not money," she said, taking the paper out of the envelope. "Maybe it's a fortune or something."

Anna unfolded the piece of paper and read it. Her eyes went wide as she saw the words.

' _Please say yes'_

She felt her throat tighten and her pulse jump as she turned to look at Alex.

He was kneeling on the floor, having slid off the sofa while she wasn't watching. He was staring at her, a knowing smile on his face, a navy blue velvet box in his hands.

"Anna May Smith," he said slowly, looking at her as he opened the box.

Her hand flew up and covered her mouth as she gasped. A beautiful yellow gold ring with a Princess-cut diamond solitaire sat inside the box.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, grinning at her hopefully.

"Yes!" she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her hand was shaking as Alex took the ring and placed it on her finger. He rose and sat back down on the sofa, taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly. She held on to him tight, sobbing as she kissed him back, then hugged him fiercely.

"Oh God, oh God," she muttered, laughing and crying at the same time.

He kissed her cheek, running his hand up and down her back, holding her as she continued to shake. Eventually she pulled back, wiping her eyes with his offered handkerchief, then cuddling against his chest as they lay back on the sofa together. She stared at her ring in wonder, resting her hand against his white dress shirt, which was now a bit damp from her tears and a bit soiled from her makeup.

"I love you so much," he whispered, massaging her back. "Ever since I first arrived and met you in the boardroom, you enchanted me completely."

"You just wanted to fuck me," she said, laughing and sniffling as her tears finally stopped. "I saw you checking out my arse when we went to go and fetch the employees."

"It is entirely possible to fall in love with someone and want to have sex with them as well, you know. The two aren't mutually exclusive," he retorted.

"I'm quite aware, actually," she said, turning her head and kissing him.

"I do hope these are tears of happiness, not despair," he joked, wiping her cheek with his thumb.

"Of course they're happy tears," she said, grinning up at him. "I've never been happier."

"Good," he said. "Must run in the family. Your Mum cried when I called her for permission."

"You called Mum?" she asked in disbelief.

"I did," he confirmed, smiling, entirely pleased with himself. "Earlier today. I knew if I called with days to spare, she'd tip you off."

"She probably would have," she agreed, laughing at the thought. "Was she shocked that you were going to propose?"

"No, she was quite elated about it," he said. "She told me to start calling her Mum now too."

"Mmm," she hummed happily. "And did she assure you that I would say yes?"

"We didn't talk about it, although I think she assumed that you would," he said. "She was probably more confident than I was."

"Really?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him. "Babes, you had to know I was going to say yes. Wasn't it obvious?"

"I was hoping. I thought I had a good chance," he said. "I just don't usually get my hopes up about really important things like this."

"Well, go on and get your hopes up," she said, kissing him again. "Because you're all mine now, and I am not letting you go for the rest of my life."

"Sounds perfect to me," he said, pulling her close and kissing her deeply.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2016**

Mary blinked and groaned slightly, making out the flashing light on the nightstand. Reaching out her hand from beneath the duvet, she grabbed her mobile.

"Mmm, no phones in bed," Matthew mumbled, pulling her back against him.

Before she could reply, the familiar sound of a lightsaber rang out from his phone on his nightstand.

"No phones in bed," she said wryly, elbowing him lightly in the ribs as she turned on to her back, raising her phone in front of her face and trying to wake up enough to focus on it.

As her bleary eyes adjusted to the light of the screen in the dark bedroom, she opened the text message from Anna. She grinned as she saw the image of a lovely diamond ring on the ring finger of her friend's hand.

' _I said YES!'_ screamed the caption.

"Well, he finally did it," she said, smiling at the next picture, a selfie of Alex and Anna, again with her engagement ring prominently displayed.

"Good for them," Matthew said, looking at the same photo on his own phone. He sent a quick congratulatory text back, then shut off his mobile and put it back on the nightstand.

Mary texted her congratulations and best wishes to Anna. As she was texting, Matthew put his arm across her stomach and nuzzled his head against her neck and shoulder.

"Hurry up," he muttered, closing his eyes and fitting himself against her side.

"Hang on," she groaned. "My best friend just got engaged. I think you can manage to be patient for a few seconds while I share in her happiness."

He just smacked his lips and swallowed a few times in reply.

Mary sent her texts and turned off her phone, putting it back on the nightstand before turning into Matthew and wrapping her arm and leg across his body.

"You knew he was going to propose, didn't you?" she said, closing her eyes and resting her head against his shoulder as they readjusted to their usual position with him on his back.

"Of course I knew. He was a wreck all week. He's been planning to propose since they went to France," he said lazily.

"And why didn't he?" she asked, her eyes still closed. "It would have been quite romantic to do it in Paris."

"Well, the trip was to convince her that they could have a life together, and he planned to propose when they got back to London. He was going to do it on Valentine's, but I told him to do it a bit earlier," he said.

"He didn't need to wait so long. She was ready to marry him last year," she said, her hand falling across his bare chest.

"Well, all's well that ends well," he said, turning and kissing the top of her head.

"Goodness, both Anna and I are engaged to boys from Manchester," she joked. "Who would have ever imagined that?"

"Anna's from Brighton and you're from Yorkshire," he replied, eyes still closed. "Manchester's a gleaming metropolis by comparison."

"Mmm hmm," she said dismissively. "Keep on talking if you think you're so smug."

"Why shouldn't I?" he said. "My best friend just got engaged, and meanwhile I'm lying comfortably in bed with my naked fiancée next to me. Life is quite good."

"If you put it that way," she laughed. "Though I wouldn't get too comfortable. There is the matter of where we're going to live still to deal with."

"Lady Mary Crawley would actually consider moving out of her family home?" he asked with mock surprise.

"I could be convinced," she replied, her hand sliding below the duvet and down his body. "With the proper compelling argument."

He laughed mischievously and pulled the duvet over their heads.


	39. Chapter 39

**Previously:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2016**

"Of course I knew. He was a wreck all week. He's been planning to propose since they went to France," he said lazily.

"And why didn't he?" she asked, her eyes still closed. "It would have been quite romantic to do it in Paris."

"Well, the trip was to convince her that they could have a life together, and he planned to propose when they got back to London. He was going to do it on Valentine's, but I told him to do it a bit earlier," he said.

"He didn't need to wait so long. She was ready to marry him last year," she said, her hand falling across his bare chest.

"Well, all's well that ends well," he said, turning and kissing the top of her head.

"Goodness, both Anna and I are engaged to boys from Manchester," she joked. "Who would have ever imagined that?"

"Anna's from Brighton and you're from Yorkshire," he replied, eyes still closed. "Manchester's a gleaming metropolis by comparison."

"Mmm hmm," she said dismissively. "Keep on talking if you think you're so smug."

"Why shouldn't I?" he said. "My best friend just got engaged, and meanwhile I'm lying comfortably in bed with my naked fiancée next to me. Life is quite good."

"If you put it that way," she laughed. "Though I wouldn't get too comfortable. There is the matter of where we're going to live to deal with."

"Lady Mary Crawley would actually consider moving out of her family home?" he asked with mock surprise.

"I could be convinced," she replied, her hand sliding below the duvet and down his body. "With the proper argument."

He laughed mischievously and pulled the duvet over their heads.

 **Chapter 39:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, February 2016**

Mary rolled her head about her shoulders, groaning as her neck muscles ached in protest. The hot water poured down over her from the waterfall shower above, and she sighed as she slowly began to wake up. It wasn't that her neck was particularly stiff, it was more that her body didn't want to be out of bed at the moment. With last night's Lunar New Year celebration and Super Bowl party at Crockfords ensuring that she and Matthew did not get to bed until very late, having to wake up early on this Monday morning to go right back to the casino was annoying, to say the least.

Keeping her eyes closed, she went about the process of washing her hair, using her usual imported shampoo and conditioner, tilting her head back and yawning as she rinsed off. Taking a deep breath, she was still reluctantly clinging to the last dregs of lazy sleep when firm arms circled her waist from behind and soft lips kissed her shoulder, neck and cheek.

"You smell delicious," Matthew said, his voice heavy and deep. She smiled, pleased to see that she obviously wasn't the only one struggling to wake up this morning.

"I'll let the people at Alterna know you like the scent of their products," she laughed, leaning back against him.

"Well, at £40 a bottle, it should be good for something," he said, running his hand through her freshly washed tresses.

She laughed and turned in his hold, stepping away from the water and resting against him. "I usually never beat you to the shower," she noted. "I was beginning to think you might actually have a lie-in."

"Definitely not," he said, keeping one arm around her as he wet his hair. "I was going over last night's messages. William ended up staying in the sports book until the end of the Super Bowl."

"Really?" she asked. "Wasn't that something like 3 in the morning?"

"Closer to 4," he replied. "He wanted to get the figures to me first thing. I gave him the day off and told him to go home."

"So keen and dedicated," she joked. "Well, what ended up happening?"

"Denver won, actually," he said lightly, letting her go just long enough to lather the shampoo in his hair. "A rather significant upset."

"Wasn't most of the betting on the other team?" she asked.

"On Carolina, the favourite, yes," he confirmed. "We received around 70% of all bets on them, and about 65% of the total money. That wasn't just at the sports book. Alex said we saw the same patterns on our websites."

"So how much money did you make as a result of the favourite losing?" she asked, watching him rinse his hair quickly.

"At Crockfords, total profit was around £4 million. Not bad for one night," he said casually.

"That's not bad at all. It's quite impressive, actually," she exclaimed, blinking in surprise. "And what about your websites?"

"Oh, well we made significantly more than that," he said plainly. "We've been operating for longer, and it's more convenient to bet online, so the volume is much higher."

"Which means what?" she asked, smiling at him. "Eight? Ten?"

"Closer to ten, than eight," he said, smirking at her as he reached for his bottle of body gel.

She arched her eyebrow as she watched him soap his body. When they were teenagers, she could barely be bothered to pay attention to him, and now here they were, engaged to be married, standing naked in the shower discussing work, casual as could be.

"So what's the actual number?" she demanded. "I know that you want to brag."

"It's not bragging when you're speaking the truth," he replied, stepping back under the water and rinsing his body. She smiled as she watched the soap suds fall off of him.

"Technically, you are required to tell me, you know," she said as he finished rinsing and took hold of her again. "So that I can be certain that you're giving us our proper share."

"Is that so?" he said, smirking and looking at her mischievously. "It almost sounds as though you don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you," she replied, running her hands up his wet chest. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"£187 million," he answered finally.

"187 million pounds," she repeated in disbelief.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"In profit?" she asked, barely able to process the number.

"Yes," he said easily. "We had total takings of around 250."

She did the math. It was rather simple, despite the staggering numbers.

"But that's 5% of the entire worldwide market! That's incredible! It will take us the better part of the year to make that much," she said, shaking her head.

"Yes, we would have made more if the matchup involved more popular teams, but then again, if Carolina had won, we would have had a slight loss, so I can't complain."

"I should think not," she said.

He turned off the shower and took her hand, leading her out of the glass enclosure and on to the plush bath mat.

"You're thinking of all the ways to spend it already, aren't you?" he joked, wrapping her in a towel.

"A little," she admitted, giving him a playful smile before she dropped the towel and fetched her silk robe from the hook on the wall. "Just don't let Mama find out. She'll push the guest list for the wedding over a thousand."

"I'm beginning to feel as though I'm just an accessory to your wedding," he joked, drying himself off.

"As far as the reception is concerned, we're both just part of the scenery. Mama's far more concerned about the flowers and the décor than about what either of us want," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "However, when it comes to the actual wedding," she said, smiling at him. "Believe me, darling, you are absolutely essential."

He chuckled and kissed her, then let her go as they went about getting ready for work.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, March 2016**

Anna closed her eyes and smiled, Alex's familiar scent flooding her senses pleasantly as she kissed his warm skin. She opened her eyes at the sound of his contented sigh, glancing up at his face, his eyes closed, lips parted in a rather stupid looking smile. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from grinning as she continued to kiss his chest, his fingers caressing her shoulder.

It still amazed her how accustomed she now was to being with him, sharing her bed with him. He wasn't just a part of her life, but was now her fiancé, her future husband. In the years before she met him, she barely dated, and never had anything close to a serious relationship, preferring to pour herself into her work. She regularly went months without being kissed, let alone anything more intimate with a man. Her parents' divorce, and her mum's even worse failed second marriage hadn't quite soured her on the institution itself, but it had killed many of the childhood fairytales she used to have. Happily ever after was for the beautiful and glamorous, women like Mary and her sisters. Anna accepted that she would settle for being content someday, and hadn't paid much attention to the kind of delirious happiness that made one feel all warm inside. That just wasn't realistic for shy, quiet, average women like her.

Or so she used to think.

His stomach tensed beneath her kisses and she hummed in satisfaction. It was still shocking how well she knew him – little idiosyncrasies like how ticklish he was, or how he took his tea without milk; and more serious matters, such as how he had once been a professional killer, and the rather sweet, but complicated relationship he had with the Dowager Countess. He wasn't at all the type of man she ever pictured herself ending up with. Exotic. Rich. Dangerous. But none of that made him seem all that much different from her, once she got to truly know him. She liked learning about his heritage, and he was still more from Manchester than from China, anyway, both in looks and background. Yes, he was rich, nowhere near the level of Mary, or Mr. Crawley, but he was actually rather normal. He liked staying in and cooking more than going out to fancy restaurants, and he worked hard, rather than just sitting back on his fortune the way Mr. Patrick had.

In all their time together, she'd never seen him violent, or even physical. His gun was still sitting away in a closet in his flat, and she suspected there was more than just the one, but that part of him didn't scare her at all. She tended not to think about that part of their world – the security guards, the self-defence training she'd gone through, the emergency protocols in case any of the Crawleys were abducted. She didn't want to know about all that Alex had done before. In a way though, she took comfort in it. There was something reassuring about knowing he could protect her, that he was capable of doing whatever was necessary to keep her safe.

Her hand moved past his hip and massaged his thigh, his audible gasp firing her own desire. She kissed his stomach again and shifted to make herself more comfortable in bed.

She didn't think she would ever grow used to his devotion. He looked at her sometimes as though he was entirely enthralled, and she still couldn't understand that, though she had long ago accepted it. When they were at grand events with gorgeous women all around, he only had eyes for her. It was sort of comical how he was completely formal and proper when speaking with other women, how he saved all of his charm and flirting for her alone.

He made her feel beautiful, and sexy, and fearless, made her behave in a way that was entirely new and different for her. Before, she was obsessed with work, knowing that many keen people with fancy university degrees would kill to have her job. She agonized all the time over doing better, having no idea what she would do if she didn't have Mary and Crawley Group to give her a sense of purpose. Now, she knew that she was good at her job, had a renewed sense of confidence, not only in her own abilities, but in her future, both in and out of the office. She was coming into her own, happier than she had ever been, and had someone to share her life with on top of that.

"Alex," she called, reaching out and taking hold of his firm arousal.

His eyes snapped open and met hers, his mouth still hanging open.

This was new for her too – taking the initiative, being bold, playing the seductress. She rather liked it.

He groaned as she stroked him slowly, deliberately using her left hand so he could see her engagement ring, her eyes never leaving his.

"Watch me," she said wickedly.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 2016**

"We're down to these three. Decide," Sybil ordered, leaning forward and frowning at Matthew across the table.

"Hmm," Matthew grunted, taking a deep breath and gazing at the different real estate listings. His chin was resting on his hand, which was in turn propped up by his elbow on the table. His eyes scanned left and right, moving from one office to another, not revealing anything.

"Chancery Lane, near the Tube station," he muttered, looking at one listing, then turning to the next. "Fleet Street, closer to more commercial buildings. Hmm."

Sybil rolled her eyes and glared at him, willing him to make a choice. She'd been running around for two months now trying to find office space for the Dr. Reginald Crawley Charitable Foundation. She'd found loads, but none that had met Matthew's preferences. Of course, Matthew's preferences seemed to change on a daily basis, so she felt as if she was chasing a moving target. Other times, she suspected he was just being difficult on purpose to play with her, teach her some lesson about how working in the real world wasn't always sunny days, even when working for one of your best friends and your future brother-in-law. If his goal was to make her think that having a job in the real world could be annoying, mission accomplished.

"This one," he declared, pushing the third page across the table to her. He said nothing more and got up from his chair.

"King William Street," Sybil said, smiling and nodding as she looked over the listing. "Perfect. That's the one where we won't need to do many renovations."

"Tell them we'll commit to a five-year lease if they drop the price by a third," he instructed, walking over to the side table and pouring two glasses of water.

"I doubt they'll go for that," Sybil said carefully, watching as he came back and placed one glass in front of her.

"Of course they won't," he shrugged. "They'll counter, and we'll end up settling at somewhere in the 75 to 80% range. Once that's done, coordinate with Edith on the renos and with Rose on the IT."

"Got it," she said, making notes on her tablet.

"Oh, and Sybil?" he called as he headed for the door.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking over at him.

"Do remember that your office can't be bigger than mine," he said, smirking before leaving the room.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "We'll see about that," she said smugly.

"I heard that," he called from the hallway.

She laughed and shook her head.

Matthew walked over to the foyer and took the stairs to the second level. Finishing his glass of water, he went down the hall to the study, putting his empty glass on a sidetable and going over to sit down on the leather sofa.

"Are you done your meeting?" Mary asked, looking at the computer screen intently.

"We are," he stated. "I chose the Monument property."

"The same one you liked a month ago?" she asked, smiling as she scrolled to another browser window.

"The same," he confirmed, taking out his mobile and checking his messages.

"So you put poor Sybil through a grand exercise when you knew all along that you had already found a suitable office space?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"Darling, most of the properties were entirely suitable for my purposes," he replied. "I think it's perfectly reasonable to want to do a thorough search before making such an important decision as to where my company office will be based."

She turned her head and looked at him pointedly, arching her eyebrow.

"It really is quite funny to see her with her back up and all agitated," he admitted, grinning at her.

"You're such a child," she laughed, getting up from her chair and going over to the sofa to join him.

"Sybil needs to learn that I won't go easy on her just because I love her," he said easily. "She's my employee now. She can't just get away with doing a half-ass job and go whinge to you when I come down on her for it."

"Sybil doesn't do anything half-ass, you know that," she said, frowning at him. "She wants to impress you, and she's excited about the opportunities to help people through your company. Yes, you need to teach her what is expected of her in the corporate world, but there's no need to be manipulative about it. Don't make me the referee between my baby sister and my husband, Matthew."

"Why? Will I not like who's side you end up taking?" he teased.

"It was your idea to hire Sybil in the first place," she noted. "She's still a student. You can't expect her to be Alex, or Anna, or even William. We all now she's brilliant and will catch on to everything eventually, but it's still early days. You've got to expect some growing pains."

"I'll lighten up on her, then," he said, giving his fiancée an annoyed glare. "After the space is fixed up and we're all moved in."

"Good," she said, patting his knee. "You'll make your life easier that way."

"And yours?" he asked her with a smirk.

"You'll help mine a little bit," she said. "If you could somehow get Mama to leave me alone for a full day, now that would be something."

"Mother mentioned the latest draft of the guest list that was circulated yesterday, the one that was supposedly cut down from the first list," he laughed. "I wasn't aware that we even knew 750 people."

"We don't. I barely recognized half the names," she said, shaking her head. "And it will only get worse when they get back to London in May."

"It'll be fine," he said, reaching over and rubbing her thigh. "What you really need to be concerned about is how Robert will react to your management changes."

"Thanks," she said drily.

"Just remember, darling, he doesn't get a say, or a vote. You don't need his approval, regardless of how many opinions he'll give you," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

"I know that," she sighed. "And I know that I'm doing the right thing for the company. But I'd rather he be pleased with everything. I don't want this to be a thing between us, constantly at odds over every decision I make, any success that I enjoy being seen by Papa as a condemnation of him and his tenure."

"I think that we need to allow him time to come to terms with everything that's happened," he replied. "He's been away on vacation for months, but once he's back at Downton, it's all bound to come back to him. Everything will work out, but we can't force him to be happy, or to be at ease just because we want him to be."

"Of course not," she said, turning towards him and running her fingers through his hair. "Why should anything be easy now?"

He smiled and kissed her lightly.

"Do you know," she said, massaging the back of his neck. "It's been weeks since we last had a proper row, maybe even months."

"That's not true," he replied. "What about the argument we had over dinner the other night?"

"That wasn't an actual fight; that was you being stupid about wanting to eat McDonald's, of all things. It doesn't count," she said.

"All right, what about when we argued over whether we should consult for Venetian Macao?" he suggested.

She pursed her lips and nodded, considering his answer. "It was a lively discussion, perhaps even a debate at some points, but that wasn't a fight. We ended up agreeing on terms in the end."

"What's a fight, then?" he asked, grinning at her. "When we argue and you end up giving me the silent treatment afterwards?"

"Yes, and you go off and sulk and wallow," she teased.

"Where we retire to our own corners and stubbornly wait for the other to capitulate and apologize?" he continued.

"Rather than try and talk out our differences, come to a compromise of some sort, or simply agree to disagree like mature adults," she nodded. "At least not right away."

"Yes, that's true," he agreed. "A proper row requires that we confirm that we are resolved with a round or two of prolonged, make-up sex."

"If I recall correctly, you seem to require more than two rounds, actually," she teased.

"Well, that's true, though I would say it's not only my decision. You could differentiate them, counting only the first two times as the make-up sex," he remarked.

"And what about the rounds after the first two? What would you call those?" she asked.

"Gratuitous indulgence," he said cheekily, kissing her again.

"Well, technicalities aside, it's been some time since we last fought," she stated.

"Are you concerned?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"A little. Isn't our relationship based upon how opinionated we are? How each of us tends to defend our positions vociferously? If we get along for such an extended period of time, that's perhaps an indication that we're growing bored of each other, settling into a, I don't know, lazy pattern," she mused.

"That we're indifferent to each other," he followed her train of thought. "Or ambivalent; that we don't care enough to bother fighting anymore and just let things go as they may."

"Exactly, isn't it important for a successful couple to be equal parts strength and passion? You shouldn't just let me have my way. Neither of us should dominate the other," she said.

"Well, actually…" he said, smirking wickedly at her.

"You know what I mean," she scoffed. "I knew agreeing to wear that blindfold was a mistake. It's all you can think of, now."

"I'm sorry, but it was a rather vivid image," he laughed, shifting slightly in his seat. "All right, let's fight then."

"We don't have anything to fight about," she huffed.

"Surely, there must be something. Think it over for a moment," he said.

"I won't just fight for the sake of fighting. It can't be forced and contrived," she said, rolling her eyes. "It needs to be natural, and in the moment, where each of us is moved to defend our position and challenge the other."

"Well, I'm sure there are any number of grievances that you have that you are either supressing for the sake of maintaining harmony between us, or you've been too busy to bring them up. So, here's your chance. Have at it," he said, reaching over and playing with her fingers.

"What are you suggesting? That I complain to you?" she asked, linking her hand with his.

"I'm suggesting that you bring up something that bothers you, and I expect I won't agree, and we can fight about whatever it is, and that will count as an official fight, therefore preserving the health of our relationship," he said.

"A disagreement isn't a fight. I don't want to get in the habit of arguing with you over petty matters. I only want to fight over something important. That's the point. We should feel able to argue without being afraid of how the other will react," she said.

"All right, fair enough," he acknowledged. "But, what counts as important? We can't fight over money, we've got loads of it and each of us has our own fortunes. We can't fight over our families, we're entirely in agreement where they're concerned. We don't have any children, yet, so we can't fight about how to raise them. So far, we agree generally on the neighbourhoods where we want to live after the wedding. What's left after that? We both have similar politics and you don't care enough about sports to fight about it."

"I don't know, to be honest. I can't think of anything significant," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, I have an idea," he declared. "Why don't we say that we fought? Let's say we had a right cracker of a fight. We yelled, and screamed, hurled horrible words at each other, slammed doors and spent an entire day not speaking."

"I don't throw tantrums," she said pointedly.

"That could be the subject of our fight, right there," he joked. "Come on, humour me."

"All right, I'll play along," she said. "Suppose we did all that, then what?"

"Then I would probably come and find you around dinner time and mumble something about wanting to know if you wanted to eat in, or go out," he said.

"And I would probably give you a snide reply, such as telling you that I wasn't hungry," she smirked.

"And I would sigh dramatically and roll my eyes, then finally apologize for making you angry, and for saying anything improper, but I wouldn't apologize for whatever position I chose to take, because I imagine I would still believe strongly in it," he nodded.

"And I would grudgingly accept your half-hearted apology, and would say something along the lines of you misunderstood what I was trying to say earlier, but that I was sorry that we fought, and that I didn't mean to say whatever it is that I said that was wrong of me to say, even though most likely I never said anything of the sort," she said, arching her eyebrows.

"Once we talked out our issues and compromised, or reached some sort of truce, I would offer to take you out for dinner at whatever restaurant you chose," he said, his eyes bright as he leaned closer to her.

"I would thank you for the offer, but would say I preferred that we stay in to eat," she chuckled.

"So we would, and we would talk about other subjects, avoiding whatever it was that we fought about, and I would open a bottle of wine so we could both relax, finishing our lovely meal with a delicious dessert of some sort," he said smugly.

"That does sound lovely," she nodded.

"Well, I'm glad you think so, because we did all of that, which brings us to where we are now," he said, moving in and kissing her neck.

"Ah, and now that dreams have met reality, what's next?" she asked, hugging him close.

"Why, the make-up sex, of course," he drawled against her skin.

"Of course," she laughed. "This was all a scheme to have sex in the middle of the day, wasn't it?"

"You're the one who brought it up, darling," he said.

"I brought up the fact we hadn't fought in so long," she pointed out. "And you steered the conversation to sex, as you invariably do."

"And what if I did?" he asked, kissing her lips, then moving back to her neck.

"Then you've gone to a great deal of trouble," she said, allowing him to guide her to lie back on the sofa. "You could have just cut right to it."

"Hmm," he pondered, deftly undoing the top button of her blouse. "Would that have worked, though? If I just came in here and said 'Let's fuck'?"

"You'd need to go to a bit more effort than that," she said wryly. She hummed and chuckled sultrily as he opened another button and kissed the top of her breast above her bra.

"Now, now, darling," she managed, though she did nothing to stop him. "Sybil's just downstairs. She could come up looking for one of us at any moment."

"You're right," he said between kisses. "We should go to your bedroom and lock the door."

She laughed at his eagerness as he rose from the sofa and quickly scooped her up in his arms.

"Is this your way to show me that we haven't become a boring couple?" she asked, holding on to him as he walked briskly down the hall to her bedroom.

"This is my way of showing you that there is nothing at all wrong with our relationship," he said, kissing her lightly as he reached her room and darted inside. "Don't worry, darling," he said confidently as he kicked her door closed. "Whether we fight often or not, I doubt our lives will ever be lacking for drama."

She laughed as he carried her to bed.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, March 2016**

Anna walked briskly across the marble floor to Mary's office. She paused in the doorway and knocked lightly on the open door, watching as her boss lifted her head and smiled at her.

"Ah, Anna," Mary said, getting up from her desk.

"Are you ready for file review?" Anna asked.

"Yes, but I need to stretch my legs desperately," Mary complained, coming out from behind her desk. "Let's go down and grab a drink, then we'll come back up and have our meeting."

"Great," Anna said easily, turning and walking with Mary to the lift.

"So, started planning the wedding yet?" Mary asked as they came out on the ground floor and made their way towards the expansion area.

"Not at all," Anna replied with a laugh. "I'm just enjoying being engaged at the moment. I think we'll probably look at something near the end of the summer. We don't have a large guest list so we're not too fussy."

"That must be nice," Mary groaned, rolling her eyes. "At the rate that Mama is going, I'll be having my reception at the O2."

Anna laughed as they crossed the large and spacious atrium and walked over to the small café counter off to one side. The server nodded to them in acknowledgment and prepared two lattes for them to take away.

"Oh, you know, that reminds me. Since we're down here, Matthew wanted me to check something for him in the sports book. It will only take a moment," Mary said.

Anna nodded and followed down the hall and past the large casino floor. The sports book was tucked into a corner, away from most sightlines, an appeasement to Lord Grantham when the space was first designed. Since making its debut for the Super Bowl last month, the space had been regularly busy during football matches and horse racing. Alex said there were plans to expand it to include other sports and matches from North America once they had an established clientele. So far, it had been a smashing success.

"Do you ever wonder why this whole sports gambling thing is so popular?" Anna asked as they turned past the empty Baccarat tables.

"Not really. I don't understand why people are so obsessed with it, but I must admit that Matthew's come upon a rather brilliant set-up to take advantage," Mary replied. "You know, the average winning percentage on sports bets is actually lower than any other casino game, even lower than slot machines. But it's immensely popular because every man thinks they know more about sports than the house does. It's genius, really."

"Have you ever admitted that to him, that his career choice was genius?" Anna asked with a smirk.

"I'll take that to my grave," Mary said, arching her eyebrow.

They came into the sports book and Anna frowned as the large television screens were all showing the Crockfords logo, rather than any matches. Even more strange was that there were no customers sitting around or making bets. She blinked as they approached the front and a number of employees were gathered around – there was Daisy and William, Jimmy and some of the other dealers, Matthew, Alex, and even Mr. Carson was here.

"What's going on?" Anna asked Mary quietly.

"You'll see," Mary replied.

"Ah, there she is," Matthew said, smiling as Mary and Anna approached. "If everyone could take their seats please."

The employees all went and sat down in the rows of plush reclining seats, leaving Anna and Mary standing up front with Matthew, Alex and Carson.

"Thank you all for coming this morning, we'll make this quick," Mary said crisply. "As you all know, Crawley Group has always been a family business, dating back to the last century when it was first formed by the seventh Earl of Grantham. My family has always aspired to manage the company in a way that not only ensures its long term success, but also takes into account the many people who depend upon us. That has not changed to this day. However, while my family continues to run this organization, we are not against expanding our inner circle when the occasion warrants it."

Anna glanced at Alex in confusion. He just smiled back at her.

"All of you have been with us for many years, through numerous moments, both thrilling and perhaps not so much," Mary continued, drawing smiles and chuckles from the employees. "Through it all there has been one steadying influence, one reassuring, constant presence that has kept us all on the right path. In this company, we recognize and reward those who have been loyal to us, and those who we quite simply could not do without."

Carson stepped forward and handed Mary a small box.

"Anna," Mary called, turning towards her.

Anna blinked in surprise. She stepped forward, glancing about nervously.

"You've been with Crawley Group almost as long as I have, and more importantly, you've been my assistant for all that time, which probably qualifies you as being either the world's most patient woman, or the most insane," Mary joked.

Anna smiled in embarrassment as the rest of the room laughed politely.

"The truth is I couldn't survive without you, and this company would not be where we are today without your tireless contributions. So, if you're agreeable, the Board has decided to promote you to Vice-President, Operations," Mary announced. She opened the box and Anna's eyes went wide as she stared at the House of Grantham crest, the pin that only Mary and other executives were given.

Anna gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Come on everyone," Matthew said. "Let's try and convince her to accept."

The employees all rose to their feet and applauded. Anna's face flushed deep red as she glanced around, for once in her life the centre of attention.

"Love," Alex whispered in her ear. "Go on. You deserve it."

Anna looked at Mary, who grinned warmly back at her, holding out the pin and arching her eyebrow.

Unable to say anything, Anna just nodded her head vigorously as tears began to well in her eyes.

Matthew held the box while Mary took the pin and carefully affixed it to Anna's dress. The crowd cheered as Mary hugged her friend, and the employees came forward to surround Anna, cheering and giving her their best wishes. Servers came out with trays carrying flutes of champagne and they all drank to Anna's promotion.

"Well, Carson? Aren't you going to say this is rather unprofessional for an executive to mix with the staff?" Mary teased, stepping away with Matthew from the group to stand next to the butler.

"Not at all, my Lady," Carson grunted. "I would not recommend it as a normal procedure, but I am rather fond of Anna, so an exception in her case is a transgression that can be overlooked."

"Go over and give her a hug, then, Carson," Matthew said, smiling at the family's oldest servant. "She'll be quite honoured, I'm sure."

"Very good, sir," Carson struggled, swallowing nervously, then stepping forward. He held out his hand to Anna when he reached her, and she took it before giving him a hug that he returned after a moment's hesitation.

"The old boy's still a charmer, isn't he?" Matthew said softly to Mary, squeezing her hand lightly. "Should Alex be worried?"

"Not at all," Mary replied. "You, on the other hand, would be wise to be mindful. I am Carson's favourite, you know."

"How could I forget?" Matthew grumbled as Mary laughed and squeezed his hand.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, April 2016**

"How did Mary take it?" Alex asked.

"She's cautiously optimistic, as we all are," Matthew replied, typing away at his computer. "The Court reserved their decision, so I expect it will be a couple of weeks before we hear anything. Murray did an all right job, got all the points we wanted across, so I think there is reason to be confident that the appeal will be dismissed."

"But Lady Mary would have preferred a dismissal on the spot," Alex noted. "She probably thinks Murray wasn't fiery enough."

"Murray is deliberate and organized," Matthew said, stopping his typing and looking over at Alex. "This isn't _Law & Order UK_. At the Court of Appeal, one doesn't win because of theatrics or the volume of one's voice. It's the application of the law to the facts. That's all."

"Advocacy is the art of convincing someone that your position is right, remember?" Alex said, smiling. "Anyone can read off the key ratio from an old case, or recite facts that everyone already agrees upon. I'm sure Murray is good at what he does, but being compelling goes beyond just standing up and repeating what's written in a factum."

"Well, he didn't just do that," Matthew said. "Anyway, Mary's penchant for fireworks aside, the hearing's over and hopefully in a few weeks, I will never have to hear the name Phil Ivey again, unless I'm watching him on television or something."

"I bet you he would try and come back and play," Alex chuckled. "And Lady Mary would probably let him too."

"I wouldn't put it past him, or her," Matthew agreed, smiling ruefully. "But that's the nature of this business. We never are truly free of any of it – Phil Ivey, Carlisle, Charles Blake, even Robert resenting that he had to retire. People tend to hang on to grudges quite strongly."

"Except for you," Alex noted. "You're getting out while the getting's good."

"I'm getting out of the business, in part," Matthew said. "I certainly won't be living a simpler life. If anything, with Mary as my wife and Sybil as my Vice-President, my connection to the House of Grantham will be set in stone."

"Speaking of the family, I'm picking up Rose from the airport in about an hour," Alex said. "How long is she staying?"

"Long enough to set up my new office and to go to Mary's hen night, so three weeks at least, I think," Matthew replied. "And by then Robert and Cora will be back, so they may just make her stay until the grand opening."

"Wonderful," Alex said wryly. "Life is always more exciting when Rose is around."

Matthew laughed and went back to typing on his computer.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2016**

"Holy shit, this party is going to be fucking boring," Rose groaned, shaking her head as she looked at her tablet.

Edith and Sybil exchanged knowing smiles and didn't bother answering their cousin.

"Morning spa, afternoon tea, fancy dinner and cabaret in the evening," Rose said, reciting the itinerary. "Really?"

Anna took a sip of her juice, trying not to laugh.

"Mary wants a nice, relaxing day off and a nice night out," Edith said. "This is exactly what she would expect."

"And that's the bloody problem," Rose answered. "Come on, it's supposed to be her last real night out as a single woman! Where's the strippers? Where's the clubbing? Where's anything even remotely fun?"

"I cannot see Mary at a strip club," Anna said, shaking her head.

"Exactly!" Rose said enthusiastically. "This is her chance to do all the crazy things that she won't ever get to experience once she's married. She can have tea any day. Doing a body shot off of some gorgeous looking man on the other hand…"

"Well, actually…" Sybil said, shrugging.

Edith laughed.

"All right, maybe that was a bad example," Rose allowed. "I don't want to think about what she gets up to with Matthew."

"Just be glad they're not staying here while you're in town," Edith grumbled. "I had to put my earphones on and listen to music one night for a good two hours. No lie."

Anna blinked, then laughed when Sybil couldn't stop herself from giggling.

"Anyway, stuff these ideas and let's come up with something better," Rose said. "Sybil, what was that place we went to in the summer up near Clerkenwell? Everyone there was super good looking."

"I'll look into it," Sybil said, nodding.

"Mary's going to hate it," Edith warned.

"She'll thank us by the end of the night, just you watch!" Rose laughed gleefully. "Now, what about her outfit?"

"What about it?" Anna asked. "I'm sure she'll look stunning as always in some designer dress."

"Yes, but no bride-to-be goes out on her hen night without a few key accessories," Rose said, picking up her tablet. "I'll take care of it. I know just the place."

"Mary won't wear a veil," Edith said.

"Didn't she agree that she would do whatever we planned for her?" Rose asked pointedly.

"She agreed that she would do whatever Edith, Anna and I planned for her," Sybil corrected her. "I doubt she wanted us to let you take over."

"I'm absolutely certain that she would be dead set against it," Edith said.

"Look," Rose sighed, glancing at Mary's three bridesmaids. "You all know that I love Matthew to death, and Mary's my cousin and I adore her, but the both of them are too stuck up and proper for their own good sometimes. Now, what's the harm in having a bit of fun for one night so that Mary can really let loose? After everything she's been through, she could use it. It's entirely harmless, and nothing will happen. She can go back to being Lady Mary Crawley the next day. But for one night, let's just own this fucking city and live it up!"

Edith and Sybil looked at each other warily.

"Anna, you're getting married soon," Rose stated. "Don't you want your hen night to be something memorable and exciting?"

"I think my definition of memorable and exciting are quite different from yours, Rose," Anna replied.

Sybil and Edith laughed.

"All right, I give up," Rose huffed. "Let's have non-alcoholic cocktails and frozen yogurt while we're at it."

"I'll find out about the nightclub," Sybil groaned.

"There was this...place...that I went to for a friend's hen night," Edith volunteered. "It was…clean…at least…as far as those types of establishments go. The dancers were...fit."

"That's the spirit!" Rose said, clapping her hands. "Anna, you and I can go get the accessories. Maybe you'll see some things you want for your own night!"

Anna smiled ruefully and got up to follow Rose.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**

"I really wish you would do something," Mary said, applying her lipstick as she looked in the mirror. "You're making me feel guilty."

"Why?" Matthew asked, laughing as he pulled the tank top over his head. "It's your night with your girls. Go out and enjoy it."

"Yes, but you aren't having a stag at all. It's not right," she protested, finishing with her lipstick and checking the fit of her dress in the mirror one last time.

"I have no interest in getting drunk at some smoky nightclub, then financing some college student's tuition," he said simply, grabbing his trainers from the closet. "Don't worry about me. It's fine."

"No, it isn't," she said, following him out into the living room. "This is supposed to represent your last night of bachelorhood. You shouldn't be spending it in the gym."

"My bachelorhood ended the first night we made love," he said smoothly, giving her a quick kiss.

"God, now I really feel horrible," she said, shaking her head. Still, she smiled and felt a warmth in her chest. How did this man make such sappy lines sound absolutely delightful?

"Just go," he said, smiling at her. "Your sisters planned something fun, I'm sure. Go and have a great time. You wouldn't want to waste the hours you spent at the spa earlier."

"The manicure did turn out quite well," she acknowledged, glancing at her fingers. "Still, though, can't you at least go out with Alex and look at pretty girls or something? At least then I'll feel as if you've had some form of a stag night and we'll be even."

"I'll think about it," he laughed. "Now go."

He followed her to the foyer and watched as she slid her stockinged feet into her Louboutins. The cream coloured high heels matched her sleeveless top, the blue and white striped short skirt giving her outfit a splash of colour. With her freshly styled hair falling just above her shoulders and her pale skin just cleansed and scrubbed from her spa treatment, it was all he could do to actually let her leave the suite, when other parts of his body most certainly wanted to throw her against the nearest piece of furniture and keep her here for the night.

Turning back to him, she stepped over and kissed him soundly, swiping her tongue into his mouth before pulling back and caressing his cheek.

"I love you," she said quietly.

"I know you do," he replied, running his hand along her bare arm. He kissed her quickly before letting her go. "I love you too."

Mary left the suite and Matthew took a deep breath before putting on his trainers to head up to the hotel gym.

 **fabric Nightclub, Farringdon, London, England, May 2016**

The limo wound its way along the Victoria Embankment and past Waterloo Bridge. _Formation_ by Beyoncé was playing from the car speakers and Rose was carefully pouring shots of Grey Goose into everyone's outstretched glasses.

"To Mary!" Rose shouted when everyone's glass was full.

"To Mary!" Sybil, Edith and Anna replied giddily as they all downed their drinks.

"Yes, to me!" Mary echoed, laughing hysterically as Sybil pulled her into yet another fierce hug.

"All right, now before we get to our destination, there are a few accessories to your lovely outfit, Mary," Rose stated.

"Oh God, what are they?" Mary groaned, frowning at Edith.

"It wasn't my idea," Edith said, shaking her head, though her smile betrayed how much she was looking forward to this.

"First, your sash, my Lady," Rose said with mock formality, taking out a garish looking white silk sash with "Bride-to-be" written in flowing pink script.

"This is absolutely frightening," Mary exclaimed, holding the item up. After a lengthy pause, she sighed and put it on, to much applause from the other women.

"Now, we know how much you would hate to wear a veil," Rose continued.

"Quite right," Mary said suspiciously.

"So we won't make you wear one," Rose said. "But you do have this lovely tiara and matching gloves."

Mary laughed ruefully as Sybil placed the sparkling costume jewellery tiara on her head and Anna helped her with the white opera length gloves.

"Now you look like a bride on her hen night," Sybil declared, kissing Mary's cheek.

"I'm going to need another drink," Mary grumbled. "We're going somewhere full of people for maximum embarrassment, aren't we?"

"You'll see soon enough," Rose cackled happily. "Now, the final, and most important accessory, my Lady. Your whistle."

Edith, Sybil and Anna roared with laughter as Rose handed Mary a whistle at the end of a long lanyard meant to go around her neck.

"No fucking way," Mary said, shaking her head as she held up the lanyard so everyone could get a good look at the particular design of the instrument.

The plastic whistle was made to resemble a man's penis and testicles.

"Now," Rose said, still keeping her formal air, though she was tearing up from laughing so hard. "You must wear this, and all of your other accessories throughout the evening. Whenever anyone says the word 'Matthew', you are required to blow."

Another round of hilarious laughter broke out, and even Mary had to snort in bewilderment and amusement.

"Come on, darling," Sybil said, snickering all the while.

Mary glared at all of them, then rolled her eyes and put the lanyard around her neck. She arched her eyebrow at Rose when the whistle came to rest just below her cleavage.

"Now that is a shot for the family album," Rose said, taking out her phone.

Mary groaned in protest, but smiled gamely as Edith and Sybil squeezed in on either side of her. The sisters all pursed their lips into duck face pouts as Rose took their photo. Mary posed with Anna and Rose in turn, taking heart that even her cousin wasn't stupid enough to post these photos to her social media accounts.

"Why don't we ask Taylor to take a group shot of us when we get outside?" Edith asked.

Mary just rolled her eyes. She'd have to give the driver a bonus payment by the time this night was over to buy his silence.

"And here we are!" Rose declared, clapping as the limo rolled up to the kerb outside the nightclub. Long lines snaked down the street, clubgoers wearing next to nothing waiting in the balmy evening to be let in.

Taylor got out, walked around the limo and opened the rear door. One-by-one, the girls all got out, adjusting their dresses as they straightened up and walked towards one of the large bouncers guarding the door.

Mary could feel all eyes upon her. She was used to such attention generally, and there was a natural curiosity whenever one arrived in a limo anyway. However, Rose's special accessories left no mystery as to why she was here, and drew stares from the waiting crowd.

"Welcome, Lady Rose, Lady Sybil, Lady Mary," the bouncer said, bowing his head and unbuckling the velvet rope to allow them to pass.

"Let's go!" Rose cheered, turning to the group. "Everyone make way for Matthew Crawley's fiancée!"

Mary's eyes went wide and she stared at her cousin. Anna, Sybil and Edith looked at Mary cautiously, waiting for her reaction. Rose just grinned, nodding eagerly at Mary.

Whether it was the buzz of the alcohol, the rapt attention of those waiting in line, the mention of Matthew's name, or some combination of all three, Mary felt a bit of a rush to her head. It had been ages since she'd been out dancing, and she hadn't frequented a nightclub like this since her university days. She found the entire scene rather vulgar and beneath her, but that was part of the appeal. Here she was, Lady Mary Crawley, allowed to just walk right in while the commoners had to wait in line. Who knew what delights and temptations awaited her inside, and for one night, she was allowed to play and indulge as she liked, to dance and drink and tease and be someone entirely different from the woman she was, all with the safe knowledge that she would go back to her loving fiancé in the early morning guilt-free. As she looked at the expectant faces of her sisters, Rose and Anna, a thrilling shiver went down her back.

Smiling wide, she arched her eyebrow and brought the "penis whistle" to her mouth. Licking her lips saucily, she gave the plastic phallus a sharp blow, the shrill call of the whistle announcing that the hen night was truly kicking off.

Rose clapped and cheered.

Anna grinned.

Edith and Sybil burst out laughing, putting their arms around Mary and guiding her to the door.

The bouncer smirked and nodded as they went past.

* * *

"What do you think?" he asked, watching the bachelorette party go into the club.

"Bentley limo, drunken bachelorette dressed in expensive clothes and shoes. Definite potential," a second man replied.

"Let's go check them out," a third agreed.

The group stepped away from the line and walked up to the front door. The third man, standing over six feet tall with dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, a sharp nose and high cheekbones whispered something to the bouncer as he handed him a hundred-pound note. The bouncer stepped back and unbuckled the velvet rope.

The men walked briskly into the club and spread out looking for Mary's group.


	40. Chapter 40

**Previously:**

 **fabric Nightclub, Farringdon, London, England, May 2016**

Whether it was the buzz of the alcohol, the rapt attention of those waiting in line, the mention of Matthew's name, or some combination of all three, Mary felt a bit of a rush to her head. It had been ages since she'd been out dancing, and she hadn't frequented a nightclub like this since her university days. She found the entire scene rather vulgar and beneath her, but that was part of the appeal. Here she was, Lady Mary Crawley, allowed to just walk right in while the commoners had to wait in line. Who knew what delights and temptations awaited her inside, and for one night, she was allowed to play and indulge as she liked, to dance and drink and tease and be someone entirely different from the woman she was, all with the safe knowledge that she would go back to her loving fiancé in the early morning guilt-free. As she looked at the expectant faces of her sisters, Rose and Anna, a thrilling shiver went down her back.

Smiling wide, she arched her eyebrow and brought the "penis whistle" to her mouth. Licking her lips saucily, she gave the plastic phallus a sharp blow.

Rose clapped and cheered.

Anna grinned.

Edith and Sybil burst out laughing, putting their arms around Mary and guiding her to the door.

The bouncer smirked and nodded as they went past.

"What do you think?" he asked, watching the bachelorette party go into the club.

"Bentley limo, drunken bachelorette dressed in expensive clothes and shoes. Definite potential," a second man replied.

"Let's go check them out," a third agreed.

The group stepped away from the line and walked up to the front door. The third man, standing over six feet tall with dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, a sharp nose and high cheekbones whispered something to the bouncer as he handed him a hundred-pound note. The bouncer stepped back and unbuckled the velvet rope.

The men walked briskly into the club and spread out looking for Mary's group.

 **Chapter 40:**

 **Central London Golf Centre, Wandsworth, London, England, May 2016**

Matthew wiggled his hips, taking a deep breath and letting it out. He turned his head and looked down the vast green field, lit by large floodlights under the evening sky, then looked back down at the golf ball teed up before his feet. Drawing his arms back behind him, he wound up and swung the golf club violently, slashing forward in an arc through the ball, finishing with his arms above his head.

He frowned as he watched the ball sail far off into the distance and tail badly to the right, well off from where he had been aiming.

"Nice," Alex said from the bay next to his. "At least you hit the ball this time."

Matthew sighed and stepped back from the tee, glancing over and watching as Alex hit a gorgeous shot true and flush down the centre of the range, some 200 yards away.

"Well hit," he grumbled, reaching over into the bucket of golf balls and teeing up another.

"Enjoying your last night of bachelorhood yet?" Alex asked, using his club to casually lift a ball out of his bucket and bounce it up to his hand before placing it on the tee.

"Loads, thanks," Matthew replied tightly. "This was a brilliant idea."

Alex smirked as Matthew took another swing, this time managing to blast the ball horribly off to the left.

"Isn't it the best man's job to make sure I have a good time tonight?" Matthew asked, glaring at Alex while he crushed another beautiful shot.

"It's just funny to watch you actually suck at something," Alex laughed, shaking his head.

"I suck at plenty of things," Matthew replied, hitting another ball, which ended up going straight, but a very short distance. "If that is going to be the theme of this evening, tell me now so I can go back home."

"You shot down all of my other suggestions," Alex noted. "Ethel Parks would have given you a special rate, you know."

Matthew shot him a warning frown.

"I'm just saying that she gives dances as well, apparently," Alex said, shrugging his shoulders.

"No thanks," Matthew huffed.

Alex picked up his club and balanced it behind his head and across his shoulders, watching as Matthew grunted and groaned his way through another five balls, with varying degrees of failure.

"I hope the reason for your shitty play isn't because you're thinking about whatever Mary's getting up to tonight," Alex said after a while. "Because that isn't healthy."

"I'm not," Matthew said easily, teeing up another ball. "What do I care what she's doing? I expect she's having a much better time than I am, though."

"Ha ha," Alex laughed sarcastically. "I'm just saying. You know she'll be going to a strip club later. With Rose involved, it's a certainty. Better to not think about it."

"So what if she is?" Matthew asked, shaking his head. "It's her hen night. She's entitled to do whatever she wants, and if she wants to ogle some oiled up, naked men on steroids, so be it."

"From what I hear, ogling isn't all that women get up to on hen nights," Alex said wryly.

"Are you afraid of what Mary might do, or what Anna might?" Matthew smirked.

Alex rolled his eyes.

"Look, what's the difference between Mary licking whipped cream off some musclebound bloke's chest and me having some stripper shake her tits in my face?" Matthew asked, teeing up another ball. "It's all for fun. It doesn't mean anything."

"Yes, but we're not going to see any strippers anytime soon, whereas in Mary's case, it's a matter of mere hours," Alex noted.

"So what, she's isn't allowed to have any fun because I'm choosing not to go out and get a lap dance? How we choose to spend our evenings is a personal matter. I don't expect her to think the same way I do, or to behave the same way either," Matthew stated.

"And why aren't we getting lap dances tonight?" Alex asked calmly.

"Because I don't want to. You can do what you like," Matthew retorted. "I didn't pay for cheap thrills before I started dating Mary, so why would I do that now?"

"Yes, but then by extension…" Alex began.

"She can do what she wants," Matthew interrupted him. "I don't own her. She wants to have a night of fun with her girls, and that's what she's doing. It's perfectly fine."

"So you're really all right with it?" Alex asked dubiously. "Knowing that given who she's out with, it's quite likely we know what she's going to be doing?"

"She's allowed, for tonight," Matthew said. "She can grind in a club, and spank some stripper's bare arse all she wants. It's just one night. She's going to be my wife for the rest of her life, remember."

"Since you put it that way, you're right, she should live it up as much as she can beforehand," Alex joked.

Matthew frowned at him, then turned back to his ball. He tried to change his stance slightly, standing closer to the ball, and he slowed his swing a bit. It didn't help as the ball went spinning off to the far right.

"What are you saying?" Matthew asked, looking at Alex curiously. "You're going to ban Anna from having a hen night?"

"No, of course not," Alex replied as he fired another annoyingly straight drive. "But I won't hesitate to go out for my stag, I'll tell you that. I might have you set it up for Prague, or Amsterdam."

"Do you know what I think?" Matthew said smugly. "I think all of your talk is really you just compensating."

"Compensating?" Alex said in confusion. "Compensating for what?"

"For the fact that you're scared," Matthew said, smiling knowingly.

"Scared?" Alex snorted, frowning at him. "Scared of what?"

"Why don't you tell me? You trust Anna. She trusts you. Why does what she does influence what you're going to do? Why should it matter that she's going to be feeling up some thick bloke on her hen night?" Matthew asked, smiling as though he already knew the answer.

"She won't be," Alex shot back. "She doesn't go for thick, I'll have you know."

"Or so you think," Matthew needled him, turning back to his next ball.

Alex blasted another shot, then frowned at Matthew again. "So what then? This is healthy, you're saying? To let your fiancée try out a different fantasy that you can't give her, then come back to you the next day with her curiosity sated?"

"I never said that," Matthew replied. "All I'm saying is that I know what I want. It's Mary. I don't need a stripper, or an escort, or a whore, whatever, even if there's no touching and it's all just meaningless fun. That's the way I am. She's not the same, and neither are the vast majority of people. There's nothing wrong with that. I know that she's going out to have fun with her sisters, Rose and Anna. Whatever they get up to, all she really cares about is having a laugh with her girls. She's not out prowling for a new man. She's not looking to cheat on me. So, as long as she doesn't get into trouble, or do anything illegal, then I don't care, and I certainly wouldn't forbid her from doing what she wants."

Alex looked at him strangely.

"I don't like the idea of her feeling up some male stripper, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear? But I'm not going to drive myself crazy over it, either," Matthew said, waving his arms around.

"Fair enough," Alex said, nodding his head.

"Now, as for you," Matthew continued.

Alex rolled his eyes and looked up at the sky.

"I think you should tell Anna what you want," Matthew said simply.

Alex blinked and looked at him curiously for a moment. "No," he said finally, looking down at his feet and shaking his head.

"Why not?" Matthew laughed. "She might be into it, you know."

"And she might not be," Alex grunted, looking back at Matthew. "I'd rather not terrify my fiancée, thank you. Once we're married, it'll be done with and I won't have to worry."

"If you say so," Matthew said, smiling as he got another golf ball from the bucket.

"It's stupid anyway, and juvenile," Alex muttered. "Nothing good can come of it."

"Unless she's willing to play along," Matthew suggested. "Then it would be quite good indeed."

"Quit thinking of my fiancée like that," Alex warned.

"You're the one who got us on this whole conversation," Matthew remarked.

"Then I'm stopping it. Now," Alex said firmly.

"All right," Matthew agreed, turning back to his golf ball.

Narrowing his eyes, he took another swing, this time sending the ball flying down the middle of the range, finally bouncing some 250 yards away.

"Nice shot," Alex said, nodding his head in surprise. "Were you picturing Henry's face on the ball?"

"Not Henry's, no," Matthew replied, glancing over at Alex knowingly.

"How clever you are," Alex said, rolling his eyes before stepping up and launching another perfect drive into the night.

Matthew laughed and grabbed another ball.

 **fabric Nightclub, Farringdon, London, England, May 2016**

Mary closed her eyes and smiled, throwing her head back and shaking side-to-side as the bass of the song thumped all around her. This particular nightclub was known for its electronic music, but Rose had wisely booked a private table for them in the more mainstream room. Rather than standing shoulder-to-shoulder and swaying in a trance-like state to wordless songs in the other room, here they had enough space to dance.

Upon their arrival, a hostess led them to their assigned booth, where a server was waiting with their pre-ordered selection of bottles and mixers. They started with shots of Grey Goose chased with Red Bull, and immediately took off for the dance floor. Mary drew the attention of everyone around her, the pink sash, tiara, and gloves, as well as her whistle shaped like the male genitalia screamed out that she was here for her hen night, and people took notice. Five attractive young women dressed in designer clothes would garner stares in a place like this regardless, but Mary's outfit had men gawking with particular interest.

Mary opened her eyes halfway and grinned as she saw her sisters dancing together, laughing and grooving to the music. Sybil was a regular at places like this, especially when Rose was in town, but for Edith, it had probably been ages since her clubbing days, almost as long as Mary's last night out. While she could never envision her sister going out every weekend to a place like this, Mary was still pleased to see her let loose a little and enjoy herself. The two of them bickered far more with each other than they ever did with Sybil, but Mary still wanted Edith to share in her happiness, to feel as though she was a true bridesmaid, and not just included as a token gesture because she was her sister. Seeing Edith's wide grin and enthusiastic gyrations, it seemed she was completely on board with the night's activities.

Rose needed no such encouragement. Within the first few beats of that first song, Rose had already found a man to grind against. It wasn't difficult, given the close proximity of everyone around them. Four songs later, Rose dropped him so they could go back to their table for a round of Jägerbombs, and so the night continued.

Mary was pleasantly buzzed, but alcohol wasn't the only influence working on her at the moment. She felt free and brave here, surrounded by strangers, no one knowing who she was or what she did. Having been raised on the importance of carefully cultivating one's image and working in an industry where she was constantly looked down on for being a woman, it was liberating to be in a place where the rules were different. All anyone cared about here was that she was hot and out for her hen night. The anonymity of it all was thrilling and addictive. Within these walls, beneath the blinking coloured light show and smoky artificial fog, she could do anything she wanted to, act on whatever impulse came to her, without any consequences. Though there was a rational part of her mind that still kept loose control over the rest of her, she wasn't thinking or evaluating her behaviour as much as normal. She was simply doing whatever felt right.

And the loud music flowing through her body felt very right.

She closed her eyes again and revelled in the song, the bass, the treble, the rhythm of the beat and melody of the lyrics. Sometimes she would sing along, shouting to the ceiling. Other times she just let the music wash over her, the beat seemingly pounding in her chest. One song led to another, and another after that, and she danced to every one, stopping only when one of the other girls would pull her back to their table for more drinks.

She shook her hips back and forth, raising her arms above her head in celebration and surrender to the moment. An idle thought passed through her mind that she and Matthew should go dancing more often, not just to the formal galas that they often attended, but to a club where they could escape together. The idea soon passed however, as the DJ standing on a raised stage across the room played another song she loved and she lost herself again.

So engrossed in her buzz and the song was she, that when large hands came up to take hold of her waist, she didn't flinch. She opened her eyes and looked behind her, a young man leering back. Breaking eye contact, she kept dancing. He kept his hands on her, his firm body matching her movements. She enjoyed it, taking it as a bit of a challenge, changing her cadence to see if he could keep up. He fell in step with her seamlessly, which caused her to laugh as the song kept on.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked, pressing closer.

"Mary!" she shouted back, just turning her head slightly.

"You're fucking gorgeous, Mary. I'm Jordan," he said.

"I don't care!" she shot back, grinning at him briefly before stepping out of his hold and closer to Anna. Jordan laughed and blew her a kiss, watching her dance for a moment before he left and rejoined his friends.

Anna smirked at her as they kept dancing.

Mary arched her eyebrow and laughed.

"Who was that?" Rose asked, coming over and putting her arms around both Mary and Anna.

"No one," Mary shouted back.

"He looked like he was dry humping you!" Rose cackled.

"He was!" Mary said, sticking her tongue out playfully.

"Was he big?" Rose asked.

"It certainly didn't feel like he was!" Mary snickered.

Anna laughed and shook her head.

"What was his name?" Rose asked.

"I think it was Jordan, or something stupid like that!" Mary said.

"Are you sure it wasn't Matthew?" Rose asked, grinning widely.

Mary laughed and rolled her eyes, having too much fun to care about her cousin's scheme.

Rose and Anna both laughed and looked at her expectantly.

Sybil and Edith came over and joined them. "What's up?" Sybil asked.

"Mary was just dancing with some guy named Matthew!" Rose yelled.

"He was named Matthew? Really?" Edith asked playfully.

"No, his name wasn't Matthew!" Anna answered. "It was Jordan!"

"Are you sure it wasn't Matthew?" Rose asked, struggling to stop herself from laughing further.

"All right! All right! Stop!" Mary yelled, glaring at all of them.

She reached down her front and picked up the 'penis whistle', bringing it up to her mouth. She made a show of licking the tip of it before pressing her lips to it and blowing several times in quick succession.

The girls all threw up their arms and screamed in jubilation, laughing along with Mary as they kept dancing.

Across the room, a man stood on the raised DJ booth, keeping back of the artist spinning the tracks. He raised a digital camera with an expensive lens to his eye and scanned the crowd. Finding Mary and her girls in the VIP area, he smiled and tuned the focus. After several beats, white lights lit up the dance floor for a brief moment, and he expertly reeled off a series of crystal clear photographs.

 **Gong Bar, 52** **nd** **Floor, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**

"Last one," Matthew said firmly as Alex slid the drink across the small table to him.

"Last one," Alex agreed, raising his crystal glass of Louis XIII cognac.

"To you, Matthew," Alex said, smiling and nodding to his friend. "On the occasion of the end of your bachelorhood, and the imminent beginning of your life with the woman of your dreams. Congratulations. Salut."

"Salut," Matthew said softly, glancing at the amber liquid before taking a long sip.

They both set their glasses down and stared out the window at the vast expanse of late night London, stretching for miles into the dark horizon.

"How does it feel?" Alex asked after several quiet moments. "You came here for a specific reason, with a particular goal in mind, and now you've accomplished it."

"I haven't accomplished it yet, though I am quite close," Matthew replied, staring out the window. "How do I feel? Happy, excited, all the rest of it. You know, all those years that we were setting up the business, the websites, moving the servers to Asia, all the work that we put in, I enjoyed it certainly, but I never looked forward to each day the way that I do now. Even when we became successful and grew so much and so quickly, I felt each day was a series of tasks to complete, and I felt more relieved than anything else when we would get them done. I don't feel like that these days."

"Now what is each day to you?" Alex asked.

"An opportunity," Matthew replied, turning back and smiling at him across the table. "An opportunity to do something fun, something great, something to share. I used to care so much about how much money we were making. I'm not as concerned about that anymore. Now it's more about setting super high expectations for myself and seeing if I can reach them."

"Because of Lady Mary," Alex stated.

"In part, yes," Matthew nodded slowly, picking up his cognac glass again. "I think I always knew that money was never going to be enough to impress her. How many lads does she know who have money? It was more about building something, an operation that made a lot of money and was unlike anything she knew, something she couldn't just ignore. Now that I'm getting out of Crawley Group, I'm really looking forward to building something again, building the Foundation this time."

"Ambition, power, and Lady Mary at your side," Alex laughed, taking another sip of cognac. "That's quite a life you've built for yourself, Matthew."

Matthew chuckled and raised the cognac glass to his lips. "That it is," he said, smiling and taking a sip.

 **fabric Nightclub, Farringdon, London, England, May 2016**

The man with the camera around his neck climbed the stairs up to the second level terrace above the dance floor. He walked past groups of people having drinks, couples making out against the wall and security guards moving back and forth. Finally he reached the other side where a tall man, standing over six feet tall with dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, a sharp nose and high cheekbones was sipping his drink, observing the crowd.

"You got it?" the tall man asked.

"Yeah," the cameraman said, unstrapping the camera from around his neck and handing it over.

The tall man turned on the rear display and scanned through the photos.

"The bride-to-be, the shorter blonde and the brunette," the cameraman said. "What about the other two?"

"The tall blonde, nah," the tall man said. "Wouldn't last. The other blonde is cute, but looks like she'd need a lot of work. Besides, I don't want to take the risk of picking up all five of them. If we get the bride, and this shorter blonde, then we're good."

"All right," the cameraman said, taking his camera back. "I'll send the photos now. You should have instructions back within the hour. I found out which booth they're at too."

"Good. Once it's a go, I'll tell our guy to get the cocktails ready," the tall man said. "Go back downstairs and I'll text you when I hear."

The cameraman turned and walked away, fiddling with the buttons on his camera, then taking out his phone.

The tall man took another sip of his drink, looking down on the dancing masses below and lingering on a tall woman wearing a fake tiara, white opera gloves and a pink and white sash reading 'Bride-to-be'.

* * *

"Look! Look! Look!" Rose exclaimed, jumping into the booth next to Sybil and Edith. The sisters looked at the phone screen, made even brighter by their dark surroundings. The photo on the screen was a selfie that Rose had apparently just taken. Her lips were pursed in a typical pout and a large man had his arm around her shoulders.

"His name's Frank…or Derek, maybe. I can't remember. Anyway, isn't he gorgeous?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," Sybil agreed, nodding her head. "He's cute."

"Seemed kind of dumb though, I mean even more than what you would expect from guys in here," Rose explained, taking her phone back and swiping her finger across the screen as she composed a text. "Anyway, he got all grabby, so I got rid of him right quick."

"I thought you had a bloke back in Vietnam?" Edith asked, frowning at her cousin. "You've been taking selfies with a bunch of men on the dance floor all night."

"I do! Jack!" Rose replied happily. "Who do you think I'm sending the photos to?"

Edith blinked in shock.

"What?" she exclaimed. "But, won't that make him angry? That you left him behind to come here and you're cavorting around in a nightclub with complete strangers?"

"I certainly hope so! I expect he'll be furious!" Rose giggled.

"Don't ask," Sybil said, rolling her eyes at her sister.

"That doesn't make any sense. You want to piss him off on purpose?" Edith persisted.

"Don't judge," Rose said lightly, putting her phone away and reaching for her drink. "I know what I'm doing, and so does he. I miss him desperately, but he's an absolute animal when he's mad. When I get back, he's going to tie me up and punish me by fucking my brains out. It's going to be amazing!"

Edith's mouth dropped open.

"I told you not to ask," Sybil groaned.

"Now, where's the bride-to-be?" Rose demanded, scanning the crowded dance floor.

"She's out there dancing with Anna," Sybil said.

"How's she holding up?" Rose asked.

"She seems fine to me," Edith said. "This is the most we've drank in a long time, but Mary looks all right."

"Excellent!" Rose said, clapping her hands. "We've got about a half hour left here before we head to the strip club!"

Sybil and Edith exchanged knowing frowns.

* * *

Mary and her party all walked out of the nightclub and piled into the waiting Bentley limo. Taylor nodded to them as they streamed past him and through the open door. Rose gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, to peals of laughter from the other ladies. Shaking his head, Taylor closed the door and sighed as he got into the driver's seat and steered the limo away from the kerb.

"Follow the Bentley," the tall man said from the backseat of a dark grey Jaguar XJ saloon car. The driver waited a moment, then pulled out and followed three car lengths behind the distinctive limo.

"Why didn't we just move on them in the club?" another man asked.

"Change of plans," the tall man replied, watching the road ahead. "The bride-to-be isn't just any spoiled rich bitch. She's Lady Mary Crawley."

"Of Crockfords Casino?" a third man asked.

"The same," the tall man answered, smiling devilishly. "She's worth a fortune to us, so we need to take her very carefully."

"What will the bosses do with her? Hold her for ransom?" the second man asked.

"Maybe. Her family's loaded. Hell, she's loaded. They could demand a ransom for her, turn her out as a whore for some of our clients, even sell her to those sick fucks in the Middle East or China. Whatever brings in the most money," he said evenly.

"What's the plan, then?" the third man asked.

"We follow them. It's not even 2am. She's not done partying yet. We follow her to the next club, separate her from her friends and give her the usual dosage. We'll be gone before anyone knows she's missing." the tall man said, nodding confidently.

 **Zeus Male Strip Club, Shoreditch, London, England, May 2016**

By the time the Bentley pulled up to the neon lights of the strip club, Mary had already prepared herself for this part of the evening. She expected it, given that Rose was involved in the planning. Mary had never been to a place like this. Her list of married friends was quite short, and none of them had a hen night at a strip club. The one encounter she ever had with a male stripper was at her friend's flat a couple of years ago. They ordered a male exotic dancer for a girls' party. He was fit, wore a cowboy hat and chaps, and took it all off. It was a fun time, but not something Mary really cared about, or cared to repeat.

As Taylor held the door open and they all came outside, she was feeling sufficiently buzzed and uninhibited to give it a go. There was a bit of mystery and a slight lure of the forbidden about the entire thing. Besides, she was wearing a cheap imitation tiara and a 'penis whistle' with her expensive Louboutins. Clearly watching a male strip show wasn't far from the low she'd already reached on bad fashion alone.

Holding hands with her sisters on either side of her, she followed Rose and Anna through the double doors and into the dark interior, the pulsing sounds of music and the bright lights of the stage beckoning to them. All eyes were on Mary as they were escorted to their VIP booth.

* * *

"A male strip club. Perfect," the tall man laughed, watching from the Jaguar as Mary and the girls disappeared into the club.

"Won't we stand out if we go in there?" the second man asked nervously.

"No one will be paying attention to us," the tall man scoffed. "Besides, it works out well. We just wait for Lady Mary to go to one of the private rooms and we take her there. It's so loud inside that no one will hear a thing."

"What about the…erm…the…uh…" the third man stammered.

The tall man frowned and turned to look at him.

"The stripper?" the tall man asked.

"Yeah," the third man mumbled.

"Pay him off, or wave a gun in his face. What does he care? Look, I'll go in alone and you stay in the back of the building for when I bring her out," the tall man ordered. "Let's get ready. We'll give them a few minutes, then go in."

The second man took out a small bottle from his jacket pocket, while the third man unscrewed a silencer from the barrel of a gun.

* * *

"A male strip club. Perfect," he groaned, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

His headset crackled as he looked across the street from his car.

"Well, what did you expect?" she asked. "Lady Mary's out on her hen night. You thought we'd be stationed outside the library, yeah?"

"Fuck off, right?" he grumbled into his headset.

"Hush. Now, it's a smaller venue, easier to monitor. We need to get inside," came the order.

"Can't we just wait for her to come back out?" he whinged.

"Lady Sybil, Lady Edith and Lady Rose are with her, need I remind you?" was the quick retort. "Red two, you'll pose as a patron. Red four, you'll pose as a dancer."

"A dancer?" he sputtered.

"Well, you've got the arse for it," she giggled.

The others all laughed along with her.

"You want me to walk across the street in my drawers, yeah?" he demanded.

"No, just leave your coat behind. A shirt and jeans should be enough," came the reply.

"Yeah, you're supposed to let me take your clothes off, remember," she joked, to more laughter.

"They'll know all the dancers. Come on," he pleaded.

"Fine, you're my bloke, then. You like watching me with other men and we're here to check out the talent," she replied.

"Crikey," he grunted.

"I like it. Go with that. Should be simple. Maintain distance. If she leaves the main room, follow behind. You can go into roleplay if you need to," he commanded. "Switch to earpieces. Wouldn't want the bouncers to see you go in with headsets on."

"Bloody fuck," he complained.

"Don't worry, big boy," she teased. "Play nice and I'll give you a big tip at the end."

He ignored the laughter from the others and took off his coat.

* * *

Edith bit her bottom lip yet again as a very well-built man thrust his hips in her direction. She originally focused on his feet, stealing the occasional glance up his legs, but as Sybil and Rose cheered louder and louder, she dared to take in his six-pack abs, his firm pecs and his teasing smirk. When he raised his arms and a pitcher of water was poured down his front, soaking his jeans, her mouth fell open.

"Yeah!" Rose shouted.

The stripper turned around and looked back at Edith over his shoulder. Waving his butt side-to-side, he bent over and peeled his jeans down his legs, flashing her his arse before pulling his shorts back up, to the protests and groans of the audience. Stepping out of his jeans, he turned around and smiled at her, his legs just as muscled as the rest of him.

"I think he likes you," Sybil said, nudging her sister.

Edith blushed fiercely.

The stage was split into numerous runways and platforms, and at any one time, there were four or five dancers entertaining different sections of the room. Sometimes they would all get together and do a choreographed dance routine, to the gleeful shouts of the female audience. Other times, they would move off to their assigned sections to dance for specific groups of women, and it appeared that this particular dancer, with his shoulder length hair and tanned skin, was intent on performing for Edith.

She pulled her eyes away from him and looked over at Mary and Rose sitting across the semi-circular VIP booth. Rose was placing a pound note in the g-string of a huge black man who had crossed the floor to dance for them. He smiled and nodded to Mary before pulling his tank top over his head and tossing it to her. Mary laughed as she caught it. Now almost naked, the stripper danced to the beat of the song, then turned around and twerked his hips back and forth. Rose whispered something to Mary and she laughed before slapping her hand on the man's bare ass.

"Yeah!" Sybil and Anna cheered, applauding as the stripper turned around and flexed his biceps, letting Mary and Rose grab a feel.

Edith looked back up at her dancer on the stage platform. This place was far fancier than the other strip club she'd gone to with her friends a while back. The men were much more fit, seemed to be more…talented…and the atmosphere was more charged. Mary was the only bachelorette in the place, but most of the room was packed, and the women were very loud in their appreciation.

Glancing at her sister again, Edith sighed and smiled, the last round of drinks making her feel pleasantly lightheaded. This was Mary's hen night, after all, and they were all allowed to let loose a little. To be honest, Edith was very happy for Mary. As hard as it was to believe, she could see that Mary truly loved Matthew, and was actually eager to become his wife. Tonight was a bit of a rite of passage, a celebration of Mary's life up to now, before she moved forward with the man she loved. Mary was enjoying every second of it, and so she should.

Edith's attention went back to her stripper, who was still looking intently at her. She didn't necessarily like the overly-muscled, living-in-the-gym, alpha look, though this one was rather cute. She grinned as she briefly thought of Bertie and the first time they had sex. It was the night of the Crockfords soft opening, and she had boldly gone back to his place. Bertie would look very out of place amongst these dancers, his body nothing at all like theirs. Still, being with him had been wonderful, better than she had expected, and they'd seen each other regularly ever since. As she let herself ogle the stripper more openly, she cast aside her reservations and relaxed a bit. No, this stripper wasn't her type at all, but she could still appreciate him for what he was – a cute face and a fit body.

He raised his eyebrows to her in question, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his shorts. Edith smiled as she picked up one of the notes from the stack that Rose had thrown on the table when they first arrived. Keeping her eyes on his, she waved it in the air as confidently as she could muster.

He grinned and lowered his shorts to the floor as Sybil and everyone else around cheered.

* * *

He stayed near the bar, with a clear line of sight to Lady Mary's booth, but far enough away as to blend in. A few of the servers glanced at him as they came over to pick up their drinks, but everyone left him alone. He looked over at the stage enough times to make it seem as though he was here for the strippers, and he ordered enough drinks that no one bothered him.

Over the past twenty minutes, he'd gotten a decent understanding of the place. There was a corridor leading away from the stage towards the private rooms in the back. Gaining access would be easy. The kitchen was also in the back, as waitresses and busboys kept running back and forth from the same entrance, so there was basically no traffic control at all. All he needed to do was watch and wait. The way that Lady Mary's friends kept shouting and waving money around, it was only a matter of time before they sent her back there with one of the dancers. He smiled as he made a cursory look up at the men on stage. This would be the biggest score of his life. With the money he could get from this job, he wouldn't need to waste his time on kidnapping girls on vacation or runaway street urchins anymore. Lady Mary Crawley would set him up for life. He debated just nabbing her for himself and doing the ransom deal on his own, but now that the bosses knew he was tracking her, he had to follow protocol. He sighed and took a sip of his drink and glanced back at her table. Ah well, it couldn't be helped now, and a split ransom was still a ransom.

* * *

"It's all right to be turned on, you know," she whispered, her hand moving between his legs as she kissed his cheek. "You're just reacting to me, not to them."

"Just…stay on song," he said tightly, glancing over at Lady Mary's booth, then taking a sip of his water.

"There's a tall bloke over by the bar," she said, licking his ear. "He's been there since we got in. Hasn't moved. Doesn't seem to be here with anyone else. I don't like the look of him."

"So he's a poof, so what?" he said, deliberately looking down at her leg thrown across his thighs. "He's not the only guy in here. We're here to watch Lady Mary and her sisters, not strange looking men."

"You're such a fucking twat sometimes, you know that?" she growled, kissing him again. She took out her mobile and sent a text message, pressing her lips to his face to make it seem as though they were taking a selfie together.

He rolled his eyes and rubbed her leg to distract himself from the three naked men playing with water guns on stage.

* * *

"Lady Mary," the man said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Good evening."

Mary blinked as she took him in. He was at least 6'4" tall, with a closely shaved head and a black moustache and goatee. His light chocolate skin contrasted well against the crisp white buttoned shirt that seemed moulded to every muscle of his chest and arms, and black trousers. Most noticeable though was the sparkling diamond earring in one ear, and his eyes – they were green, an unnatural green, surely from coloured contacts, but the extra exotic detail made him look absolutely gorgeous.

"Hello," she managed, leaving her hand in his firm grip. His hand dwarfed hers, and his thumb rubbed her knuckles soothingly as he maintained eye contact. Even through her glove, she could feel the heat of his grip.

"I'm Erik. Why don't we go somewhere a bit less crowded and loud?" he suggested.

She blinked in shock, the idea taking a few seconds to register in her mind.

"Go on, Mary," Rose said, nudging her from behind. "He's all paid for and he's all yours!"

Mary hesitated, looking away from his green eyes, which only led her to his firm chest and large arms. Up until now she was having a great time, yelling and laughing as much as anyone else, enjoying the drinks and the music and the delightful view. This seemed different though.

"You're in charge," Erik whispered, drawing her attention back to his green eyes. "I'll only do what you tell me to, Lady Mary."

She grinned and rose to her feet.

The entire table cheered.

She openly stared at his tight arse as he led her by the hand towards a hallway near the back of the stage.

Three other sets of eyes noticed Mary follow the stripper towards the private rooms.

* * *

He moved once he saw Lady Mary get up from her booth. Walking around the tables, he didn't rush, staying off to the side as he made his way to the corridor. Keeping her in sight, he followed at a distance, moving easily past waitresses and other dancers and customers. Lady Mary didn't look back. Her attention was entirely on her personal stripper as he led her to another hallway.

Stopping and peering around the corner, he watched as the dancer led Lady Mary by the hand to the door at the end of the hall and opened it for her. She stepped past him and went inside, and the stripper followed, closing the door behind them.

* * *

"She's moving," he said.

"So is our man at the bar," she replied.

They both looked up and watched the tall man leave the bar and make his way towards the corridor near the back of the stage where Lady Mary was heading.

"Follow my lead," she said, getting up from her chair and taking his hand.

He got up and went after her, keeping hold of her hand as she strutted towards the back of the room, her hips shaking provocatively as she went.

* * *

The room was dimly lit, but surprisingly well furnished. There was a leather couch on one end, a small table covered with bottles of alcohol along one wall, and even a potted fern in the corner and a rug on the floor. Mary didn't know what to expect when she came in, but it wasn't this. The room resembled a decent living room, rather than a den of debauchery.

"Go and sit down," he said, his deep voice rumbled in her ear, his hands touching her shoulders.

She obeyed, walking over to the couch and sitting down, facing him as he went over to the small table.

"Those girls you're with, your bridesmaids, yeah?" he asked casually as he poured Grey Goose, triple sec and cranberry juice into a shiny stainless steel cocktail shaker. He added lime juice squeezed with one large hand, and a scoop of ice.

"Yes, my sisters, my best friend and my cousin, Rose," she said, mesmerized by what he was doing. "She's probably the one who hired you."

"She looks fun," he said, smiling as he shook the cocktail shaker and juggled it several times, nonchalantly throwing it up in the air with one hand and catching it with the other, then tossing it behind his back and over his shoulder. His movements were all efficient and effortless, his muscles rippling underneath his tight clothes. She watched closely, licking her lips as he snapped the cap off and poured the drink into a waiting Martini glass.

"Cosmopolitan," he announced, adding a lemon peel and handing her the drink. He stood before her as she accepted it, looming above her and looking down at her as she took a sip.

"That's quite good," she said, glancing up at him and taking another sip. "What are you drinking?"

"Not a Cosmo, no," he chuckled, going back to the bar and pouring himself a Sapphire Gin and tonic. She watched him as he turned back to her, one hand casually in his pocket, the other bringing the glass up to his mouth. His eyes held hers as he took a sip of his drink, and she mimicked him, the Martini smooth and cold down her throat.

He stood there, watching her drink for several moments. His unwavering stare made her a bit nervous, which led to her drinking the Martini somewhat quickly.

He came over and took the Martini glass from her hand, his fingers brushing across hers. Placing the glasses back on the table, he turned to face her, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips.

"Well?" she asked, swallowing and trying to appear calm. "Do you have a routine, or something?"

"No," he said, shaking his head and grinning. His teeth were brilliantly white, and his canines were particularly pointed, almost resembling fangs. "I told you. Nothing happens unless you want it to. You've got me for as long as you want."

"So if I told you to just stand there for the next hour, you would?" she challenged.

"Yeah," he nodded. "And if you told me to take my cock out, I would do that too."

His hips flexed subtly and his hands shifted in his trouser pockets. The movement drew her eyes down and she blinked, quickly looking back up at his eyes.

"Is your name really Erik?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed, taking a small step towards her. "When I first started, they tried to give me a stage name, but it was so stupid I just went with my own name."

"What was it?" she asked without thinking. "The stage name?"

"Conan," he said dismissively, rolling his eyes.

She laughed at that. "Conan?" she repeated incredulously.

"They wanted me to wear a loin cloth on stage and everything," he said chuckling as he took another step towards her.

"Conan," she said, shaking her head. "That is quite horrible, isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose they thought I had the body for it," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Her eyes drifted down to his chest again.

"I don't think I'm as beefy as Arnold though. I try and look more athletic, more natural. What do you think?" he asked, unbuttoning his shirt as she watched. He pulled it off and dropped it to the floor.

Her eyes moved from his broad shoulders, across his chest, his washboard stomach and his big arms.

He turned around, casually sticking his arse out towards her and flexed his arms, enhancing the ridges and definition of his back.

When he turned back around, her lips were parted and her pulse had increased slightly.

"I prefer Erik to Conan," she said, looking up at his green eyes and his confident smile.

* * *

He waited, glancing down the hall to the door at the end that he had seen Lady Mary go through. At first, he was going to go down there and take her right away, but now he decided to wait for a bit. If the stripper was any good, he would have her on her knees in a few songs, and that would make her far easier to apprehend.

"Oh God, I can't wait to get your dick in my mouth!"

He turned his head as a redhead stumbled past him, dragging a man wearing a t-shirt and jeans along with her. They stopped halfway down the hall and kissed. She squealed as he picked her up, her legs scissoring around his waist. Her laugh echoed off the walls as he carried her halfway down the hall and fumbled with one of the doors, finally getting it open and spilling inside.

"Fucking slut," he muttered, his eyes going back to Lady Mary's door.

* * *

The Weeknd's _I Can't Feel My Face_ played over the sound system, and Erik sang along, holding on to both of Mary's hands as he stepped back and forth to the beat of the music. She remained seated on the couch, looking up at him as he sang, their eyes still holding each other's gaze.

He had a lovely voice – in tune, smooth, and rich. After making her a second Cosmopolitan, he had taken out his phone and started playing the song, dancing confidently as he crossed the room and reached for her hands. He was still topless, and she was enjoying watching him move. She still felt delightfully high, any fear of being alone behind a closed door with a hulk of a man, and a stripper at that, had long disappeared, if she had ever felt scared at all. Being with Erik was fun. She liked how he called her by her title, how polite and respectful he was. She was completely in control of this beast who literally oozed sex and that women paid to spend time with, and she was loving it.

The beat switched and her eyes lit up as Usher's _Yeah!_ came over the speakers. Erik blinked and frowned for a moment.

"My apologies, Lady Mary," he said, still holding on to her gloved hands with just the finger and thumb of each of his large hands. "I'll just change the song. It won't take a moment."

"Why? I like this song, actually," she said, looking up at him curiously.

"Lady Mary, you don't need to pretend with me," Erik said, smiling down at her. "This isn't your type of music. People like you don't listen to songs like this."

She frowned in indignation. "What is that supposed to mean? I listened to this song all the time when it first came out."

"On the radio, maybe," Erik said, laughing at her. He had taken another step towards her, such that their joined hands were now at his sides, but she was too annoyed with him to notice.

"I used to dance to this song all the time when I went to clubs," she said haughtily.

"I don't believe it," he said. "You'll have to show me."

He pulled her up off the sofa as the song kept playing, and she followed easily. He stepped back, drawing her with him by her hands. As the song approached the first chorus, he turned her around, releasing her hands just long enough for him to step closer to her, then reached around her and took hold of them again, bringing them to rest on her hips.

The song reached the first chorus, and she settled back against his larger frame, her feet moving automatically with his to the catchy beat. He lowered his head to her shoulder, leaning in and whispering sultrily into her ear in tune with the song.

" _Yeah, yeah…come and get me,"_ he drawled, his hips moving with hers.

She smiled and closed her eyes, letting the song move her as though she was back in the nightclub.

* * *

He stepped into the dimly lit hallway, careful to make sure no one was watching from the corridor he had just left. Reaching down, he lifted his pant leg and took out the gun and separate silencer from his ankle holster. Bouncers were always too stupid to do a true pat down, thinking that if they made sure there was nothing concealed in a man's jacket, that was all that mattered. He screwed the silencer onto the barrel. Holding the gun concealed inside his jacket, he took quick steps towards Lady Mary's room.

The club was sufficiently sound proofed back here, probably so that the music from the stage wouldn't interrupt whatever was being played in the private rooms. He could hear the moans and cheers from the various occupied rooms, but he ignored them. Let them be as loud as they wanted. It would help cover him if he had to use force to take her.

He passed by an open doorway and glanced over out of instinct. The man he had seen before was standing with his back to the door, his jeans down around his knees, his t-shirt off. The drunken redhead that he had seen earlier was on her knees before him. Though he couldn't see her face, he could tell by the movements of her chest that she was giving the stripper a rather generous tip.

"Fucking slut," the tall man spat, shaking his head and continuing on. He stopped at Lady Mary's door and listened intently. There was music coming from inside, some kind of dance song. He could hear whispers and laughter. He took out his gun and reached for the door handle with his free hand.

* * *

Mary opened her eyes and laughed as the song ended. A slower song began playing and Erik chuckled behind her, gently guiding her back to the leather couch. He turned her around to face him and she sat down. He took her hands again and shook his head, smiling at her with those white teeth again.

"You were definitely right, Lady Mary," he admitted. "You absolutely have the moves."

J. Holiday's _Bed_ played from the sound system now, and she barely heard it as she arched her eyebrow and smiled up at him. He was already a full half-foot taller than her standing up, and with her now sitting down, her head was in line with his waist.

"So that cousin of yours is pretty wild, Rose, is it?" he said lightly.

"Rose," she nodded. "She's a bit of the rebel in the family, but she's got a heart of gold, actually."

"She definitely does. She ordered me to show you a good time, in no uncertain terms," he replied.

"Did she?" she said, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "I'm sure you get a lot of hen nights in here, don't you?"

"A fair number, yeah," he agreed. "It's true what they say. Women know how to party way better than men."

"Really?" she asked. "Why? What scandalous stories do you have to tell?"

He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that seemed to boom from his hard chest.

"Well, it's actually the bridesmaids that are the craziest," he said, bringing her hands up in front of him. "Must be something about how they are so intent on making sure everyone has a good time, but I get in the most trouble with them."

"Trouble, you say?" she repeated.

"Mmm hmm. Lots of trouble," he said, watching her as he rested her hands on his stomach. He slowly pulled the fingers of her opera glove from one hand. She sat there frozen as he removed one glove and dropped it to the floor behind him, then repeated the same motion with her other.

When he pressed her hands back against his bare skin, she felt a jolt in her stomach. His skin was warm, very warm, and firm, like liquid chocolate spread taut over his obvious muscles. He began sliding her hands back and forth, bringing them across his stomach, to his ribs and back, then up to his chest and back down.

"At a minimum, I'll get at least one blowjob from every hen night I do, usually from one of the bridesmaids," he said matter-of-factly, as though he was discussing the weather. "I never mention it, but when they get me in here and I take it all off, they just jump on my cock. I guess they must find it impressive, or something."

He flexed his hips and her eyes dropped from his eyes at the motion. She blinked as she saw the very clear bulge in his trousers, about a foot away from her face now.

He placed her hands on his sides and his large fingers stroked down her bare forearms, caressing her skin.

"How big is it?" she muttered, keeping her hands on his sides.

"Big," he replied confidently. "You can find out for yourself, if you want."

She furrowed her brow at that, and the lyrics of the song registered in her head at the same time.

" _And love you till your eyes roll back, I'm trying to put you to bed, bed bed…"_

"What about the brides?" she asked, looking up at him. "Have you ever gotten in trouble with one of them?"

His grin was predatory.

"I fucked a few brides on the very couch you're sitting on now, Lady Mary," he growled.

* * *

His hand closed around the door handle and he took a deep breath.

"Let go of the door," a voice snarled from behind him as hard steel jabbed into the base of his neck.

Fuck.

He let go of the door handle.

What felt like the barrel of another gun was shoved into his temple. He swallowed and stayed still. A large hand reached over and took his gun away. Somehow, with both guns still trained on him, his hands were wrenched behind his back and the cold steel of handcuffs were locked hard around his wrists, to the point of pain.

"Walk," came the harsh order.

He was turned around and he blinked as he saw the same redheaded girl from before standing there, a black silenced pistol in her hands pointed straight at him.

"Not bad for a 'fucking slut' eh?" she spat, motioning with her head for him to start walking back down the hallway.

He went along, one gun still pressed into the back of his neck, most likely by the man who he thought was a stripper, but clearly was not. Instead of leading him back out through the main room, which would have given him a chance to use the crowd as an obstacle and help him escape, they turned him to the kitchen. The cooks, busboys and waitresses were so busy that no one even looked up as he was roughly pushed through to the exit door at the back.

He trudged down the alley and sneered as he saw his accomplice similarly handcuffed and waiting for him, a skinny Asian with a gun holding him in check. They were both turned and led towards the street.

"It's your lucky night, boys," the redhead announced as they reached the kerb. "We're on a no-kill order. So, you can just mosey your way across the street to that cheap ass Jaguar and be on your way. If you so much as look back, we'll take that as a hostile act and the no-kill order will be cancelled. We really hope you do look back, to be honest, because it's been boring as fuck waiting for you to make a move."

He could taste bile in his mouth. Looking across the street, he could see his driver was waiting for him, looking anxious. He had likely been disarmed as well. Shit, these people were good.

"You boys have a nice night," the redhead declared as they were shoved forward. "Oh, and in case the message wasn't clear, don't ever fuck with the Crawley family."

The two men scurried across the street and got in the car, struggling with their hands still cuffed behind their backs. Once inside, the driver took off, not looking back.

"That went well," he said, smiling at the redhead. "Not a shot fired and we kept Lady Mary out of trouble."

She smiled back at him and nodded.

* * *

Erik stared at her as he unbuckled his belt. He slowly drew it from the loops and held it out to his side before dropping it on the floor. His hands went down and unbuttoned his trousers, then slid the zipper down.

Her eyes went from his face and down his chest before stopping at his waist. She could look. There was nothing wrong with it. She'd already seen a dozen naked men tonight already. Erik was just one more.

His trousers fell down his legs and pooled at his ankles. He was wearing black boxer briefs underneath.

"I know you were probably expecting a g-string," he said lightly as his hand moved between his large thighs. "But there's a bit of a problem when I wear those."

She watched as he took hold of himself through his pants. He was already hard and thick and he seemed to swell at his own touch, his hand not coming close to grasping his entire length.

He stepped out of his trousers, having already removed his shoes and socks. He came towards her, his hand still grabbing himself.

She felt arousal flaring between her legs. This was still technically just looking. She hadn't touched him yet, and truly, even if she did touch him, that wasn't necessarily wrong either.

"Do you want to take it out, Lady Mary?" he asked, standing before her, stroking himself lazily.

She realized that the song had changed again while she watched him strip, the heavy beat of Beyoncé's _Partition_ now filling the room as she stared at him.

" _Take all of me. I just wanna be the girl you like. The kind of girl you like…"_

She looked up at his green eyes.

"You take it out," she ordered, then lowered her gaze to watch him drop his shorts.

* * *

"This was a mistake," Sybil said, shaking her head. "She's been back there for too long."

"Come on, Sybil, relax," Rose huffed, watching a stripper in a fireman hat take off his bikini briefs on stage and fling them into the audience.

"Rose, Matthew's one of my best friends, not to mention my boss now, and he's going to be our brother," Sybil complained. "How am I supposed to face him now?"

"First of all, Matthew's my boss too, remember, not to mention he's very dear to me. Second, what's the big deal? So Mary's getting a private dance. So what? What do you think she's up to back there?" Rose asked.

Sybil, Edith and Anna exchanged concerned glances.

"Come on, it's Mary we're talking about here!" Rose said, laughing at the others. "She would never cheat on Matthew!"

"Depends what you count as cheating," Edith replied.

"Well, what does count?" Rose asked, leaning forward. "She's already looked at naked men, felt a few muscles and spanked a stripper or five. Surely you all agree that's harmless?"

After some hesitation, they all nodded.

"All right, so what else, beyond that, could she do in the private room? She's not going to suck his cock, we know that," Rose said nonchalantly.

Anna cringed at Lady Rose's words. So did Edith.

"How long do we leave her back there?" Sybil asked.

"Mary's a grown woman. She can stay back there as long as she likes. You're all worrying for no reason, and you're ruining my vibe, so fuck off and enjoy yourselves!" Rose scoffed.

Sybil, Edith and Anna all looked back up at the stage, each of them silently praying that Mary would finish whatever she was doing and get back out immediately.

* * *

"You can take a photo of it, if you want, Lady Mary," Erik said, stroking himself slowly as he stared at her. "Or you can measure it. The width of your hand is about three inches. See how many hands you can fit."

Her palms were warm as she stared at him. He stood before her, completely naked, hard and erect, pointed at her face.

"This is cute," he said, taking his hand away from stroking himself and reaching out to her. He deliberately massaged the side and back of her neck with his fingers, his touch warm and soothing. He trailed his fingers down her front, over her collarbone, down her cleavage, and lifted her 'penis whistle'. "Let me guess, a gift from Rose?"

She nodded, swallowing as she looked at him, then at the small plastic whistle, the comparison completely ludicrous.

He tugged the lanyard up and lifted it off of her. He dangled the whistle in front of her face, so that it was floating just above the genuine article between his legs.

"Have you blown it tonight?" he asked, his voice firm and deep.

"Yes," she said softly, nodding as she stared at her whistle, unable to not look at his thick arousal at the same time.

"How many times have you blown it?" he asked.

"A dozen or so," she answered. Her arousal coursed from her breasts down to her centre. She wondered if he could tell.

"When did you blow it?" he continued, grinning down at her wide eyes and parted lips. He could barely make out the tip of her tongue, which sent desire surging through him.

"Whenever someone said my fiancé's name," she said, as though she was reciting instructions. She swallowed audibly. "Matthew."

"Does he know you're here, Lady Mary?" he asked, his tone still even, but demanding.

"Yes," she replied.

"And what did he tell you to do?" he asked, his smile becoming lecherous now.

"To have a great time," she whispered, recalling his words, though her vision was filled by Erik.

He grinned and threw the whistle away behind him. He placed his hands on his hips and thrust forward slightly.

"Lady Mary," he called.

She blinked and looked up at him. His green eyes were large and locked upon her.

"Matthew said to have a great time," he stated. "Matthew wants you to have a great time."

She nodded in agreement. Matthew did say that.

"What are you supposed to do when you hear Matthew's name, Lady Mary?" he asked, flexing his hips.

Her eyes dropped to his huge length bobbing up and down as he moved his hips.

"Blow," she whispered.

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**

Matthew scrolled down the screen of his laptop, checking the scores from games just finishing from the American West Coast. He frowned as he looked over the betting numbers from his websites. They would end up finishing the night with a slight loss of a few million quid. He wasn't so bothered by the money as he was wondering why the odds set for those games had proven to be inaccurate.

The music he was listening to on his headphones was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He glanced over at his mobile. He knew it wasn't Mary calling as the ringtone wasn't hers. Touching his headphones to answer the call, he got up from his chair to stretch his legs.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr. Crawley, it's William," William greeted him. "We've had an incident report from the security team assigned to Lady Mary. Sending to you now."

Matthew frowned and turned back to his computer, switching to his email program and opening the report. He scanned it quickly, noting that an armed assailant had stalked Mary to a private room at the Zeus Male Strip Club and had been neutralized without detection or gunfire.

"Current status?" he asked, noting that it was just past 3 a.m.

"All of the ladies are still inside the club," William reported. "Lady Mary is still in the private room, sir."

"Good work, Mr. Mason. Pass along my thanks to Red team," Matthew said. "Good night."

"Good night, sir," William said.

Matthew ended the call and turned away from his computer, going over to the bar to grab a bottle of water. As he took a long sip, he could not stop himself from calculating how long Mary had spent so far in the private room at the strip club.

 **Zeus Male Strip Club, Shoreditch, London, England, May 2016**

Anna took another sip of her drink. She watched as another male stripper danced onstage, this time to a salsa beat. Before tonight, she had no clue what to expect from a male strip club. Now, having spent the past hour here, she was almost bored to tears. The men were fun to look at, and even spank, and Lady Rose's commentary and antics were very entertaining, but the novelty had worn off when she became concerned about what Mary was doing in the private room.

Unlike Lady Sybil, Lady Edith and Lady Rose, Anna had more personal knowledge of Mary's past love life. The two had confided in each other many times, and since Anna's love life was non-existent before she met Alex, almost all the stories were from Mary. Anna was always supportive, but she knew from past experience that when it came to men, Mary could be impulsive and reckless, sometimes making decisions on a whim. In all of her past relationships, there had come a time when she became bored, and nothing could save things, regardless of how willing the man was to change. Mary had often said that every relationship had a shelf life, and that once it expired, there was nothing else to do but move on.

She hadn't heard her best friend speak in such ruthless terms ever since she started dating Mr. Crawley. Mary was changed around him. She was nicer, more patient, more generous with her feelings. Honestly, Anna expected that Mary would one day settle for a marriage of convenience, find some rich businessman to meet society's requirements and for appearance's sake, but live her life separate and apart from him. That all changed when Mr. Crawley came to London.

The longer that Mary remained in the back with the stripper, the more Anna worried. Mary's love for Mr. Crawley was unquestionable, but tonight was all about letting go of inhibitions and living in the moment. Perhaps Mary was indulging in that mantra a bit too much.

Lost in her concerns, Anna didn't notice when Mary finally emerged from the back corridor. Rose started laughing and applauding and Anna looked up, blinking as the stripper carried Mary back to the table in his arms. He reached their booth and set her down on her feet, then kissed her hand, his bare chest and arms flexing under the lights.

"Thank you for a lovely time, Lady Mary," he said smoothly.

"Thank you, Erik," Mary beamed, nodding to him, then sitting down next to Rose.

Erik smiled at each of them in turn, then left and went in search of his next customer.

"Erik, hmm?" Rose teased, elbowing Mary playfully. "So? How was he?"

"Quite lovely," Mary answered easily. Her face was a bit flushed and she took a quick drink from a bottle of orange juice. "He's very fit and very…talented."

Edith and Sybil exchanged wary looks.

"You were back there for quite a while," Anna said carefully.

"Yes, well, we were enjoying each others' company," Mary answered, smiling pleasantly. "There was no hurry. He was paid for the night."

"Woohoo! Go Mary!" Rose cheered, clapping her hands.

"Maybe we should go," Edith suggested. "It's getting rather late."

"I agree," Mary said quickly. "I'm good to go."

They all rose from the table and organized themselves to leave.

"Hey, where are your gloves?" Sybil asked.

"And where is your whistle?" Edith frowned.

"Oh," Mary said, looking down at her bare arms. "I must have left them in the back. It's no bother, just leave them."

Anna frowned as she followed the group out of the room and outside to the waiting Bentley.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2016**

They dropped off Anna at her flat first. Mary hugged her warmly, thanking her for coming out and promising to call her tomorrow, or more accurately, later in the day, given that it was now almost 4 a.m.

The drive back to Grantham House was quiet at first, each of the ladies lost in their own thoughts. Rose was nodding off, the night's activities catching up to her finally. Sybil was already asleep, dozing against Rose's shoulder.

Edith looked over and caught her sister's eye.

"Everything all right?" Mary asked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Edith said.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "It will be."

"Are you going to tell us what really happened back there?" Edith asked. "Why you're missing some of your accessories?"

"He took them off," Mary replied. "I'll fill you in on the rest later, once I've sorted it all out myself. A lot of it feels like a blur now."

"Are you tired?" Edith asked.

"Actually, no," Mary said, shrugging and glancing at Sybil and Rose both sleeping in each other's arms. "Must have been all the Red Bulls. I'm wide awake."

"Well, you should get some sleep anyway. It's been a long night," Edith noted.

"I'll sleep eventually," Mary replied. "I'll come by tomorrow afternoon to see everyone."

"You're not staying with us?" Edith asked as the Bentley reached Grantham House.

"No," Mary said, shaking her head. "I need to go and talk to Matthew."

"Now?" Edith questioned. "Won't he be asleep?"

"Probably not, actually," Mary said plainly. "And if he is, I'll wake him up. It's important that I speak to him."

Edith frowned, but said nothing more. She leaned over and kissed Mary's cheek, and Mary returned the kiss in kind. They both roused Sybil and Rose, and they all exchanged hugs and kisses before the three of them left the limo, leaving Taylor to chauffeur Mary to the Shangri-La.

As the limo drove along the empty streets, Mary took out her mobile and stared at it for a moment before texting Matthew.

 _'Are you awake? I'm on my way.'_

His succinct reply came seconds later.

 _'See you soon.'_


	41. Chapter 41

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 2016**

"Are you going to tell us what really happened back there?" Edith asked. "Why you're missing some of your accessories?"

"He took them off," Mary replied. "I'll fill you in on the rest later, once I've sorted it all out myself. A lot of it feels like a blur now."

"Are you tired?" Edith asked.

"Actually, no," Mary said, shrugging and glancing at Sybil and Rose both sleeping in each other's arms. "Must have been all the Red Bulls. I'm wide awake."

"Well, you should get some sleep anyway. It's been a long night," Edith noted.

"I'll sleep eventually," Mary replied. "I'll come by tomorrow afternoon to see everyone."

"You're not staying with us?" Edith asked as the Bentley reached Grantham House.

"No," Mary said, shaking her head. "I need to go and talk to Matthew."

"Now?" Edith questioned. "Won't he be asleep?"

"Probably not, actually," Mary said plainly. "And if he is, I'll wake him up. It's important that I speak to him."

Edith frowned, but said nothing more. She leaned over and kissed Mary's cheek, and Mary returned the kiss in kind. They both roused Sybil and Rose, and they all exchanged hugs and kisses before the three of them left the limo, leaving Taylor to chauffeur Mary to the Shangri-La.

As the limo drove along the empty streets, Mary took out her mobile and stared at it for a moment before texting Matthew.

 _'Are you awake? I'm on my way.'_

His succinct reply came seconds later.

 _'See you soon.'_

 **Chapter 41:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2016**

Bates walked briskly down the hallway and into the kitchen. He stopped as one of the maids came hurrying through, then continued on to stand patiently next to the large island with the black marble counter in the middle of the room.

"Mrs. Bute," he called out politely.

"Ah, Mr. Bates, yes," the housekeeper said, turning and nodding to the counter across the kitchen. "The tray is over there."

Bates went over to the side table and picked up a tray carrying three glasses filled with drinks of different colours, and a plate of cookies. He turned and brought the tray back down the hall, upstairs to the ground level, and down another hall to the foyer. As he headed for the staircase leading to the second floor bedrooms, the front door opened.

"Lady Mary," Bates said, standing at attention and nodding as Mary came inside. Her high heels clicked across the marble floor as she passed him on her way to the stairs.

"Bates," she said, slipping her shoes off, but keeping her dark sunglasses on. "Are those for Lady Sybil and Lady Rose?" she asked, looking at the tray.

"And Lady Edith, my Lady," Bates confirmed. "I was just heading up."

"I'll walk up with you, then," she said, smiling at the valet and continuing on up ahead of him. Reaching the second floor, she went down the hallway, ignoring her own bedroom and going straight to Sybil's.

"Wake up. Bates has your drinks," she announced as she opened the door and came inside.

"Mmm, what time is it?" Sybil mumbled, lifting her head from her pillow and blinking to wake herself up.

"It's 2 in the afternoon," Mary answered, sitting down on the bed next to her sister. Bates quietly placed the tray on the nightstand and opened the drapes so more sunlight could come in through the windows. He bowed respectfully before leaving the room. Mary reached over and snatched an oatmeal raisin cookie from the plate.

"Mary!" Rose exclaimed as she shuffled back into the room from the ensuite bathroom. "Did you just get here?"

"I did," Mary nodded as Rose got back into bed on the other side of Sybil. The two of them were still wearing their pyjamas – boxer shorts and camisoles. Rose had tied her hair up, at least. Sybil's was a dishevelled mess more resembling a bird's nest. A bird's nest that had been blown through a hurricane.

Mary reached over to the tray and frowned as she lifted a glass filled with a rather strange green concoction. "What in the world is this?" she asked.

"That's mine," Rose said, reaching over and taking the glass from Mary. "It's my patented post-girls' night recovery detox drink. Kale, pear, spinach, acai berry, ginger, cucumber, cilantro, and some other things; avocado is in there, too, I think. I taught Mrs. Bute how to make it last summer."

Mary frowned as she watched Rose take a long gulp of the rather thick drink. She removed her sunglasses and nudged Sybil, who was about to doze off again. Her sister groaned and rolled over, pulling herself up and leaning back against the headboard.

"Fuck, my head hurts," Sybil muttered, rubbing her temple and running her hand through her hair. "Can you please pass me my orange juice, darling?"

"I'm surprised at the two of you," Mary said lightly, handing Sybil her orange juice. "You're both supposed to be the party girls with endless reserves of energy. This is what becomes of you from just one night of drinking? How disappointing."

"They're all talk, didn't you know?" Edith teased, coming into the room and sitting down at the foot of the bed. "Mary."

"Edith," Mary said, blowing her sister an air kiss. "This last one must be yours."

"Iced chai tea latte, yes," Edith said, taking the glass from her sister and having a sip. "Mmm. Mrs. Bute makes it better than Starbucks, honestly."

"That's not hard," Mary said, leaning against the headboard and making herself comfortable.

"You look rather perky for the day after," Edith noted.

"And gorgeous," Rose said enviously, taking in Mary's white sleeveless halter top and dark grey shorts. "Valentino?"

"Prada," Mary replied, smiling and stretching her legs out on top of the duvet.

"How did I not get legs like that?" Rose grumbled, shaking her head.

"Because you're not a Crawley," Sybil joked, smiling at her. "The MacClare branch of the family are all short and stumpy."

Edith giggled as Rose made a face and glared at Sybil.

"Where's Matthew? Downstairs?" Sybil asked Mary before sipping her juice.

"No, he's back at the hotel. I came on my own," Mary said.

"Oh," Sybil said, glancing worriedly at Edith.

"All right," Rose said, obliviously cheerful, finishing her drink and putting the empty glass on her nightstand. "Let's hear it. I want details."

Mary looked at her in confusion.

"About Erik. Come on," Rose implored. "You don't go into a private room with a sexy guy like that for close to an hour and just chat. How many dances did you get? What did he do? Details!"

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Actually, I don't care what happened," Sybil declared, her serious expression a bit of a strange contrast to her bizarre appearance. "What's more important is how Matthew reacted when you got back."

Mary frowned and looked down at the duvet.

"You did say you would let us know what happened," Edith pointed out. "And you were rather desperate to return to Matthew. We were worried, well, Sybil and I were, at least."

"Oh, all right," Mary said, shaking her head. "But pay attention, please. I don't want to have to repeat myself."

 _ **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**_

Mary spent the brief seconds in the lift on the way up to Matthew's hotel room trying to organize her thoughts. Despite it being 4 a.m., she was remarkably lucid. Her pleasant buzz that had followed her all night was now fighting with her mounting trepidation. Arriving at his floor, she nodded to the security guards and went into his suite. Stepping out of her heels, she removed her cheap plastic tiara and came through to the living room. A single lamp was on, next to the chair where Matthew sat waiting.

"Darling," he said evenly, drawing her attention.

"You're awake. Good," she smiled, coming around the couch.

"You're not nearly as drunk as I thought you'd be," he noted as she came to stand in front of him. "I expected you would be staying at Grantham House to recover."

"I spread the drinks out over the course of the night," she said, shrugging and idly brushing her hand through her hair. "And I had at least three Red Bulls I think. I'm quite wired, actually."

She stopped and licked her lips before speaking further.

"And I didn't want to wait until later to see you," she finished.

That earned her a slight smile from him. His eyes moved from her face down her body.

She felt anxious as he looked her over, and a bit intrigued, wondering what he was thinking. He sat with his back straight, hands resting on the arms of the chair, legs parted. He was wearing his navy pyjama trousers and a white tank top that showed off his square shoulders and defined arms. After looking at bulging muscles and oiled-up skin for the past two hours, there was something alluring about seeing Matthew now, his body more naturally trim and fit, so well-proportioned and more…familiar.

"Now that is quite pretty," he smirked, looking at the white and pink 'Bride-to-be' sash across her chest.

"Ah, yes, this," she said, nodding as she quickly removed it and set it aside on the couch. "Courtesy of Rose. There's a matching tiara and a number of other accessories that she provided actually. You find it hilarious that I actually wore them, I'm sure."

"I do, it's rather hard to believe," he said, nodding his head. "Right, well, shall we go to bed?" he asked, making to rise from the chair.

"Wait, Matthew," she stopped him, holding out her hand. "I want to talk to you first."

"All right," he said carefully, settling back down. "Regarding what?"

"About tonight," she stated, taking another step towards him. "There's a few things I need to tell you...about what happened."

He frowned slightly.

"Mary, whatever you did tonight, it's none of my business," he said, waving his hand. "If you had a good time, that's all that matters. I don't need the details, really."

"I had a wonderful time, yes," she said, looking at the floor and nodding her head. "But it is your business. You're my fiancé and you deserve to know what I got up to."

"It's not a particular topic of interest for me to know what nightclub you went to," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"It was a place called fabric, quite big, and very crowded," she said, still looking at the floor. "I liked it. The music was excellent and there was so much energy there. I was dancing for hours. I expect it will take a few days for my feet to recover."

"Well, very good, then," he said.

"I had a number of dance partners, besides the girls," she said, looking up at him again. "As you can imagine, I stood out quite a bit with my sash and accessories and all."

"Of course," he agreed. "Everyone always notices when a group of women arrive for a hen night. I expect you were even more popular than usual."

"Exactly. It was so fun," she remarked, smiling as she recalled how she just let loose on the dance floor. "I haven't danced like that in so long. I was thinking that you and I might make a night of it sometime."

"You know I'm not very good at dancing, at least not the nightclub variety," he said, laughing dismissively. "But I'm up for it, so long as you don't wander off and leave me to my own devices."

She paused, pursing her lips as she looked at his blue eyes watching her guardedly.

"Never," she said quietly.

"Well, you went to…fabric…then. I'm glad you enjoyed it," he stated.

"After fabric, we went to a strip club," she said slowly, watching for his reaction. "Rose organized it, with some input from Edith apparently. I suspected I would be taken to one of those places, so it wasn't surprising."

He nodded carefully.

"That's the common expectation for hen nights and stag parties, no?" he said lightly. "At some point everyone ends up at a strip club."

"It was remarkably clean, and quite well decorated, actually," she said, laughing incredulously. "It was like going to a fairly decent bar, or restaurant, but for the neon lights, loud music and strippers, of course."

She rubbed her hands together to try and calm herself. Her chest felt tight and her stomach was rolling a bit, every new detail she revealed increasing her anxiety.

"I don't need to hear about any of this, Mary," he warned her. "If you're telling me this because you feel badly for having gone to a strip club, don't. I don't care."

"Yes, you do need to hear about it," she replied, nodding her head. "And you should care. I don't want to keep anything from you, no matter how…well, I want you to know what I've done."

"All right," he said, watching her closely. "Go on."

"We all had a great time, even Edith and Anna," she explained. "The place was quite busy, and I learned that women can get quite loud in their appreciation of the dancers. The longer we were there, the more…comfortable…we all became. It was a riot, really, and so unlike anything I've ever done before."

"I imagine Rose had her moments," he said.

"She did, yes. I was a bit shameless myself, actually," she admitted. "It was just so…fun…to watch, and shout, and whatever, and seeing other women acting so outrageously made us all bold. It was quite freeing, really, being able to sort of leave our manners and reservations behind at the door."

"That makes sense. It's the fantasy that they're selling – that you can get away with whatever you want," he said curtly. "You know, I've never been to a male strip club, but I expect it's similar to a female one. There's a stage, of course?"

"Yes," she said.

"And they come out in tacky costumes, surely. Let me guess – police officer, fireman, probably a construction worker or two, yes?" he suggested.

"Yes," she confirmed, nodding her head.

A sense of dread was growing in her stomach. His eyes held her captivated as he posed each question, getting closer to a subject she was afraid to discuss, but which was unavoidable.

"And do male strippers give lap dances, as well?" he asked, his voice even.

"Yes," she said, swallowing nervously as her pulse quickened.

"And you got a lap dance?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Rose paid for me to…go to a private room."

His expression remained calm, his posture unchanged. Though he was sitting down and she was standing taller, there was no question that he was in control, as though she was being interrogated. To her shock, she felt a small ripple of arousal in her chest at the situation. Something about his stare and the tone of his voice rooted her to the spot, wondering just what he would ask next, what else he would get her to divulge.

"Your private dancer. He was black, wasn't he?" he questioned.

"Yes," she said, Erik's face and naked body coming to her mind unbidden.

"Classic Rose. And he danced for you, in private," he stated.

"Yes, in a room in the back of the place," she said. "We had drinks to start. It was more of a conversation, at first, just chatting before he…"

"Before he danced for you," he finished.

"Yes," she confirmed, her voice not nearly as firm as his.

"And he stripped for you," he said. "Because you told him to."

"Yes," she said, blinking at his choice of words, but of course he was right.

"Did he take all of his clothes off?" he asked, emphasizing the word 'all'.

"Yes," she answered, keeping his gaze. "Everything."

He pursed his lips and nodded slowly.

Her breathing quickened.

"Did you touch him?" he asked, staring at her intently now.

"I...I…I touched his chest, and his stomach, and his waist," she said slowly. "I grabbed his arse a few times."

"Did you touch him?" he repeated the question more slowly, his eyes drilling into her.

"No," she replied, shaking her head, her eyes wide. "No, I didn't. I…enjoyed looking at him, feeling him, but I never touched him like that. I never touched his…I never touched him…there."

"But you did look," he noted, and it wasn't so much an accusation as it was a simple statement of fact.

"Yes," she said. "At him…and several others."

They watched each other as they both absorbed her answer. He remained quiet, as though behind his blue eyes, his mind was working out her punishment.

Her cheeks felt warm, as did other parts of her body.

"Thank you for telling me," he said finally.

She nodded, swallowing as she prepared to broach the next subject.

"Seeing those men, and being in the private room, it was all quite…arousing," she stammered. "In the beginning I found it all a bit of a joke, but at some point I…erm…was turned on."

He paused and watched her before replying.

"I imagine anyone would be," he said. "You had naked, fit men dancing in front of you, and it aroused you."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I can't see how it wouldn't," he said. "If I was surrounded by naked women, I would find that a turn-on as well. It's a natural reaction."

She swallowed and stayed quiet.

"So, you leered at a few male strippers, had a few feels, and spent some time in a private room with a dancer, but didn't let it go too far. Is that all you needed to tell me?" he asked.

She took a slow breath.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 2016**

"God, Matthew must hate us!" Sybil moaned.

"I can't believe you told him!" Rose whinged. "What happens on a hen night is supposed to remain unspoken! It's for your own good, Mary!"

"Shut up, Rose," Edith said, cringing at her cousin.

"Matthew doesn't hate you, any of you," Mary said. "He wasn't surprised that we went to a strip club, or about anything that happened, particularly given that Rose was involved."

"Hey, come on, that's not fair!" Rose pleaded.

The three sisters all looked at her pointedly.

"All right, maybe it is, a little," Rose relented, rolling her eyes.

"Was he angry, though?" Sybil asked Mary carefully.

"He wasn't pleased, understandably," Mary replied. "He probably preferred that I not tell him, at least at first. He said as much."

"And yet you still did," Edith noted. "Why?"

"Actually, because of something that Erik the stripper reminded me of," Mary said, smirking mysteriously.

"What's that mean?" Sybil asked.

"I'm not saying anything more," Mary declared. "I told you what happened with Erik in the private room, or what didn't happen, more accurately, and that I told Matthew. That's your lot."

"Well I was never worried for you," Rose said. "The man's a professional. He wouldn't do anything untoward."

"Rose, he's a stripper," Edith groaned, looking at her in disbelief. "Do you honestly think it impossible that he would try and make a move on Mary, especially when they're alone, he's completely naked and aroused, and was paid a large sum of money to 'show her a good time'?"

"No, but…" Rose objected.

"I agree with Edith," Sybil said. "The money aside, it's the whole forbidden aspect of it, corrupting a bride-to-be and all that male bravado bullshit. It's a big turn-on, I'm sure. Just think of how many ugly women he's had to strip for every night? To be alone with Mary must have had his head spinning."

Rose frowned at Sybil.

"There's probably some truth to all that," Mary said plainly. "He did brag to me about the numerous escapades he's had in the private room whenever hen nights come in."

Rose huffed petulantly.

"So is Matthew all right?" Edith asked her.

"Are the two of you all right?" Sybil asked with concern.

Mary looked down at the duvet, her diamond engagement ring sparkling as she ran her fingers over the soft cotton.

"We're quite all right, yes," she said, nodding her head and smiling enigmatically.

 _ **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**_

Mary took another step towards Matthew, her hands going behind her back, fingers linking together.

"You see, I had a bit of a revelation tonight, about myself, and about you, about us," she declared. "It's the main reason why I had to come see you."

"That sounds serious," he said cautiously, looking up at her.

"It is," she said, nodding her head. "When I was in the private room tonight, with a naked man who wasn't you, I realized that I could have done anything I wanted, anything at all, and no one would ever be the wiser. No one else was in there. It was just me and him. I could have wanked him off, gone down on him, had sex with him and lied about all of it afterward, and you would never find out."

"That's true, you could have," he said tightly, frowning for a moment, then willing himself to relax his brow.

"But I didn't," she added. "Because even though I could have gotten away with it, in theory, I would still know what I did, and how could I possibly face you, the man I love, after having betrayed you like that? I may have been cold enough in the past to do something like that, and people may think me still capable of it now, but I would never cheat on you. The stripper probably would have been accommodating, but I kept him at arm's length and had him dance for a few songs, I spanked his arse at some point. Eventually we left and went back to the others."

"I see," he said, nodding his head.

"And I was reminded that before I left here, you told me to have a great time," she said.

He nodded and waited for her to continue.

"You must have known that there was a strong possibility that my evening would include dancing and male strippers, and yet you still sent me off willingly," she said, shaking her head.

"Of course I did. I trust you," he said slowly. "Besides, it's an unspoken rule between a couple that certain things will happen on these nights that normally would not be considered acceptable. I would never forbid you from having a fun hen night with your girls, whether strippers are involved or not."

"Yes, but wishing me a great time isn't the norm," she noted. "I certainly wouldn't wish that you have a great time if I knew you would be surrounded by naked women."

"Perhaps," he conceded.

"But that's the point. You had the exact same opportunity that I did in that private room. You could have gone out to a strip club with Alex and the lads tonight and gotten a lap dance. Goodness, you could have ordered a girl to come here. You live in a hotel, after all! You could have had some pretty young thing be yours for the night, do whatever you wanted, and I would never find out about it," she stated, speaking more quickly as she went.

"That's true, yes. I could have," he agreed, frowning at her insinuations.

"And yet, here you are, here you were, for your stag night. You spent the evening doing what? Working out at the gym, and then…?" she asked.

"Alex and I went and hit some golf balls for an hour, then had drinks upstairs," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Golf and drinks in a posh hotel bar without any women around at all. How depraved you are, darling," she noted, arching her eyebrow. "And you came back here."

"Yes," he said. "I took a nap and woke up to follow some of the North American matches, which is why I was awake when I got your text."

"You were working," she declared. "I told you that you could go out and have a proper stag night, get up to all kinds of shenanigans, and instead, you worked."

"You could say that, depending on your definition of what a proper stag night is," he muttered.

"Did you enjoy the golf?" she asked.

"Not particularly," he admitted.

"Did you do anything at all tonight that you couldn't do on any other night?" she followed up.

"No, nothing," he said plainly.

She smiled in understanding.

"Exactly," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "And that's what I thought about, pondered. I wondered about it when I left here earlier and I asked myself the same thing on the drive home. Why? Why would you pass up the opportunity? Why would you turn down the chance that your fiancée was giving you? I gave you permission – permission to fool around, to misbehave, just like every other groom gets, just like you gave to me. A night without consequences."

"I told you. I don't do that," he said firmly, frowning at her briefly.

"No, you don't," she agreed. "I always thought it was just because you're maddeningly righteous, but when I was in that room and I remembered what you said, it hit me, finally, because really I should have known this about you a long time ago. You aren't against strippers at all. You're not against nightclubs. You're not against ogling good looking, naked women. And I can attest to the fact that you certainly aren't a prude. So it isn't a sense of propriety that stops you from going out and having a proper stag night, and it isn't even that you think the idea of one is wrong."

"I'm not following," he said, looking at her in confusion.

"You didn't go out to a strip club because you already knew that you wouldn't enjoy it if you did," she stated. "It would be akin to torture for you."

"That's ridiculous," he protested. "Why would I consider it torture to have a naked woman, or group of women, attend to me?"

"Ah, because you won't settle for just any naked woman," she said, smiling confidently now.

He blinked.

"No," she said, crossing the distance between them. She leaned forward and placed her hands on his on top of the arm rests. "No, darling. You want that naked woman to be me."

He swallowed.

"You would watch a woman strip for you, if that woman was me," she said, bending over and kissing his cheek. "You would gladly take a lap dance, if I was the one giving it to you," she whispered, licking his neck. "And that's why you have no interest in a stag party, because I wouldn't be there."

She kissed him quickly and stood back up, a smile on her face.

"Mary, I don't…" he began.

"It doesn't make you weak to have…needs…and desires," she said. "It's not wrong for you to think of me in rather…creative ways. It doesn't mean that you don't respect me."

"No, just that I'm objectifying you," he muttered, breaking eye contact.

"And what's so wrong if you are?" she asked.

His eyes snapped back to her. "I would hope you don't want your future husband to think of you as nothing more than a piece of ass."

"After all we've been through together, how could any fantasy of yours possibly convince me to believe that?" she asked in amusement. "You're not a Saint, Matthew, and you don't need to be. You're a criminal, remember, and so am I."

"Well, not technically, since we haven't been caught," he muttered.

"Fine, but the point is neither of us are perfect, and we shouldn't expect perfection from each other. I don't believe I was betraying you just because I was staring at naked men tonight, and I don't feel insulted or disrespected by your imagining me stripping for you. To the contrary, I'm flattered," she said easily. "And you shouldn't be afraid, or ashamed of that, or any other fantasy you may have of me."

"You're a Lady," he replied. "This isn't the Edwardian era, but you still deserve to be with someone worthy of you, a gentleman, someone who desires you, yes, but not someone who…"

"Someone who what?" she asked, arching her eyebrow. "Someone who lusts passionately for me? Someone who fantasizes about me? Someone who wants me so fiercely that he isn't even interested in looking at other women, doesn't even want to spend an evening with naked strippers grinding on him? Yes, I can see why a man like that would be so unworthy of me."

His mouth fell open as he looked at her mischievous, bright eyes.

"I'm going to be your wife, Matthew," she said. "I want to know when you want something from me, anything. Tonight, I felt reckless and impulsive, and I loved it, not because I was around naked men, but just from doing something so unexpected. I thought of you. I thought of how exciting it would be to behave that way for you. And now I know you feel the same way about me, and I want you to not be shy about it. It's perfectly all right for you to demand things of me. I want you to."

"Darling, it's fine, really," he said, shaking his head. "I have no problem with you going to a strip club on your hen night, and doing what you did. Just because I chose not to go out doesn't mean I want anything from you in return."

"I know that," she said.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly. Her hands reached out and framed his face as she kissed him again. Pulling back, she caressed his cheeks and smiled at him.

"But now that I know exactly why you chose not to go out for your stag, I want to make it up to you," she said softly.

"You really don't have to…" he managed.

"I want to dance for you, give you your fantasy," she whispered, her stomach fluttering as she watched his eyes widen in surprise. "Right here and now."

"Mary, that's not…" he stammered.

"Shh," she said, placing her finger on his lips. "Stay where you are. Don't move."

He blinked as he watched her straighten up and smile at him sultrily before she turned and headed to the bedroom. His eyes fell to her swaying hips, his body filling with nervous anticipation and growing arousal.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, May 2016**

"So you told him everything and he accepted it?" Anna asked, biting her lower lip as she looked out her window.

"I don't think any man would find it entirely acceptable that his fiancée went into a private room alone with a male stripper," Mary said over the phone. "But he wasn't angry, once I finished explaining to him what happened and what I was feeling."

"I'm so glad," Anna said, shaking her head and looking up at the ceiling. "And so relieved."

"Anna," Mary said playfully. "What did you think I was doing back there?"

"I don't know," Anna said, sighing tiredly. "I was just worried that something might happen the longer you were back there. Something that you might regret."

"Anna," Mary said patiently. "I love Matthew. I love him more than anything. This isn't like it was with any of the others. Believe me, I'm not looking to sabotage this."

"I know, I know," Anna said, smiling. "I know you can handle yourself, but that guy was just so tall, and big, and, well, I was just concerned for you, is all."

"I will admit that I did enjoy being back there," Mary said. "He was good looking, but it was more the whole situation than him. Don't tell any of the girls this, but when he finally did take it out, I was actually quite disgusted by it."

"You were?" Anna asked, laughing in surprise.

"Well, perhaps 'disgusted' isn't the right word. I did look, of course, quite a bit, but I couldn't touch it. Honestly, one of my first thoughts was 'God, who knows where that thing has been?'" Mary said.

Anna laughed warmly.

"Besides, not that this is important at all, but his wasn't the biggest I've ever seen," Mary said wryly.

"Really?" Anna exclaimed.

"Yes, really, and I'm not saying anything more about that," Mary said firmly. "Now, how are you? Did Alex ask about last night?"

"No, he didn't say anything," Anna said. "He was asleep when I got home but I think he was pretending, trying to make it look like he wasn't waiting up, when he really was."

"Why? Surely he wasn't worried that you might get up to something objectionable?" Mary laughed.

"He was probably more worried than he let on, not that I would do anything, but more that I would get some ideas for my own hen night. He would never admit it, though. He doesn't really talk about that sort of thing," Anna said candidly. "I think that he thinks it makes him look petty to say anything about it. He doesn't want to be accused of being jealous."

"Men," Mary huffed, both of them laughing together.

 _ **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**_

Matthew watched the doorway to the bedroom, his hands rubbing the arms of his chair over and over as he tried to quell his nerves. It wasn't as if the prospect of seeing Mary undress for him was unnerving. Obviously he was going to enjoy it. He was going to love it, and she knew that. But still, he was a bit concerned about her acting out this particular fantasy for him. Saying he desired his fiancée wasn't a problem. Admitting that he had particularly improper thoughts about her, though, was dangerous.

What was supposed to set him apart from all the other men in her life was that he wasn't after her for anything – not her money, her title, her position, or her body. He wasn't with her because of what she could do for him, for his image, or his libido. Of course he fantasized about her. He had fantasized about her since they were teenagers. However, his love shouldn't be, couldn't be based on that. He loved the real Mary, not the one from his fantasies. She deserved a husband and partner, not a rabid freak to drool over her constantly, someone who wanted her to perform for him.

He blinked and his pulse quickened as he suddenly heard piano notes playing from the wireless speakers set up around the room.

Mary came walking out of the bedroom wearing a tight-fitting black sleeveless party dress that went to mid-thigh, leaving a bit of bare, pale skin above her long black stockings. As Destiny's Child's _Cater 2 U_ played in the background, she walked over to him, her eyes dark, her lips curled in a wicked smirk.

"Changing your clothes was a bit unnecessary, wasn't it?" he asked, his voice catching a bit as he tried to cover his anxiousness. "Your last outfit was more than good enough."

"Not at all, actually," she answered easily, passing in front of his chair, then walking around behind him. Her fingers massaged his bare shoulders as she bent over to whisper in his ear.

"That outfit was for going out with the girls. This one's just for you…Mr. Crawley," she said. "Is it all right if I call you that?"

"Sure, fine," he said, clearing his throat.

"Well, Mr. Crawley, I usually have a no-touching policy," she said, then kissed his neck and switched over to his other ear. "But for you, I'll make an exception. You can touch me. You can touch me as much as you want."

He coughed, covering his mouth, then patting his chest to stop himself from choking. God, she must be trying to give him a heart attack the way she was talking, and she hadn't even started dancing yet.

She came around to stand in front of him, her arousal flaring as he slowly took in her entire outfit, his eyes going up her stockinged legs, the short skirt that framed the curve of her hips, and the halter-style top of her dress covering her push-up bra. His hopeful eyes finally came up to meet hers and she felt a delightful shiver of anticipation. God, she was really going to do this!

"How many songs do I get?" he asked bravely, raising his eyebrow. Hell, if he was going to play along with this, may as well go all-in.

She grinned at his cheeky question. "I hear you're a real high-roller," she breathed. "A real…big…whale. So you can have as many songs as you want, Mr. Crawley. We can go as long as you like."

He gulped loudly.

Closing her eyes and picking up the beat of the song, she raised her arms out to her sides and began dancing for him, slowly shaking her hips back and forth, turning so he could see her profile, then turning back to face him again. She opened her eyes and watched him watching her. She had never done anything like this before, and it could go so horribly wrong very quickly. She didn't know how to act like a stripper. She'd never given a lap dance in her life. Still, she felt warm as she saw how he was paying such close attention to the way she moved. Regardless of her lack of stripper experience, she knew Matthew, knew how to turn him on, how to be sexy for him, and she drew confidence and courage from that, her inhibitions already lowered from the evening's activities, and the music playing from her phone to the wireless speakers making her giddy.

 _"Anything you want, just let me cater to you."_

Keeping her eyes on his and her hips moving, she moved her hands lightly through her hair, then tugged at the clasp behind her neck. Arching her eyebrow and smirking at him, she released it, allowing the halter to fall down to her waist, the sight of her black lace bra making his eyes widen.

Her heart was beating so loudly she thought he must be able to hear it as she slowly turned around away from him. Focusing on the song and what she imagined was his stunned expression, she lowered her hands to her hips, sliding her fingers under the waist of her dress.

His sharp intake of breath made her smile.

"Yes?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

He looked up from staring at her arse, a devilish look on his face.

"Yes," he rasped, the raw need in his voice making her shiver.

She arched her back and eased her dress over her hips, the thin silk falling to her feet.

 **Private Penthouse Suite, Crystal Serenity Luxury Cruise Ship, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, May 2016**

Cora looked up from bed as Robert came in. He smiled at her and came over and sat down on his side.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, kissing her lightly.

"Still tired, but I should be fine in time for dinner," she replied.

"I wish you would just leave the planning to Mary and Isobel," he said. "There's plenty of time for you to get involved when we get back next week. For now, we're still on vacation."

"I know. Isobel gave me the same lecture yesterday," she said wryly. "Since we have only a few days left, I will put off all wedding planning, on one condition."

"And what is that?" he asked.

"That you promise to make an effort with Matthew when we get back," she said pointedly.

He sighed in exasperation. "I should have known," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Darling, he's going to be our son," she continued. "This is what you always wanted. Try to be happy about it, to be happy for them, for both of them."

"I wanted Matthew as my son and as my successor, with the thinking that I had years, even decades left before I had to give up power to him," he scoffed. "I never had plans to take on a traitor."

"He's not a traitor," she said firmly, her eyes unwavering as he frowned at her. "Do I wish he had handled things differently? Yes. Does that change how I feel about him, particularly how I feel about whether he is right for Mary? No."

"Then he goes and starts up this charity, in Reggie's name, of all people!" he complained. "I think he does it deliberately to rile me up, you know. He makes Mary President, thereby ensuring her loyalty. He proposes to her, putting you and Mama on his side. Sybil always adored him like an older brother, and now she's working for this charity. He's got everyone celebrating him as a hero. He knows I'll look foolish if everyone else sides with him."

"It's not about picking sides. We're all on the same side. Matthew's going to be family, Robert!" she chastised him. "You know that he is devoted to Mary. No matter his methods, your company is in far better shape now than before he arrived, which was what you wanted when you summoned him. I'm not asking you to love him, not yet. But you must find a way to let go of your disappointment in him. It will only make things worse."

"I gave him my blessing, didn't I?" he said petulantly.

"Yes, but I want you to actually be glad to see him, going forward," she replied.

"I'll work on it," he relented, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "I promise."

"Good," she grinned, squeezing his hand back.

"I just wish he wouldn't let Mary have her way constantly," he said as Cora sighed. "There is no question who holds the power in their relationship, and I don't believe it to be healthy. She should have to defer to him from time to time, do as he wishes for once, but I know he wouldn't ask her to."

 _ **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**_

Matthew recognized the song coming through the speakers as one of those that Mary became obsessed with years ago when it first came out. Some dance song by Rihanna that was constantly played on the radio and in nightclubs back then, with a sultry beat and provocative lyrics that made one think of sex.

 _"Baby you got me. Ain't nowhere that I'd be, than with your arms around me, back and forth you rock me…"_

It was an inspired choice.

She sat in his lap, facing away from him, eyes closed, arms above her head, rocking her hips side-to-side to the beat. There was no plan anymore, if she ever had one, just the feel of his body beneath hers and the music to guide her.

She was doing an impeccably good job thus far, if his reaction was any gauge.

Unable to hold back any longer, his hands came up and caressed her sides, holding her as she continued to grind her ass against him. It made her almost delirious, the sense of power, this sort of addictive high of keeping the man she loved completely enthralled. He was usually so under control, as was she, even in their lovemaking. Their relationship had more than enough passion already, but this felt different, primal and wild. Could he sense her arousal? She could certainly feel his, even through the thin layers of their remaining clothing. It was intoxicating how she could do this to him, and she wanted more.

Her eyes snapped open and her breath caught as she felt his hand move up her back. His fingers unhooked her bra easily, and he tossed it away, the lacy silk falling to the floor before her eyes. His hands came around and cupped her breasts, pulling her back against his chest. Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder and she gasped as she felt his warm lips on her skin. She wrapped her arm around his neck, still working her hips against him.

"Mmm, Mr. Crawley," she drawled.

"Call me Matthew," he growled thickly as he fondled her breasts. He was entirely lost, her sultry voice, her body, naked save for her thin black panties and sheer stockings, destroying any restraint and reservation. They may as well have been in a private room at a strip club, she the temptress, he the customer, allowed to touch, to do anything he wanted.

She grinned at the mention of his name. He couldn't know what it meant for her to hear it tonight. Visions of Rose's stupid whistle, the girls egging her on to blow it again and again, and even Erik the stripper taunting her flew through her mind as his hands on her breasts and his hard arousal pressed against her ass fired her desire.

"Matthew," she breathed, turning her head and kissing him frantically. "Matthew. Matthew. Matthew," she chanted, as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He couldn't know what she was supposed to do when she heard his name.

She was going to show him.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, May 2016**

Matthew walked down the familiar hallway and into the office at the back of the casino. He was about to go over and sit down at his desk, but it was no longer his desk. Alex had left it empty, which was entirely unnecessary, but he smiled at the gesture just the same as he took a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of Alex's desk.

He glanced at his mobile and looked over some sports scores as he waited for everyone else to show up. The Foundation offices were still being renovated, but there was enough functional space for him to work out of there regularly now. He still dropped by Crockfords once or twice a week, but he had far less to do with the other properties. They were in Alex's portfolio now, and he didn't want to hover over his friend's shoulder. This was a new era for all of them, and it was better to get on with things than to stand with one foot in his past.

He looked up from his phone as Alex, William and Rose came in. They all exchanged polite greetings, with Alex going to sit down at his desk and William going over to the sofa and setting up his laptop on the coffee table. Rose stood off to the side.

"The vehicle registration information that we took off the Jaguar from last Saturday night was of course registered to a phantom name and address," William reported, bringing up a photograph of the car that had stalked Mary and the others to the strip club during her hen night. "With some digging, we were able to go back to the last legitimate owner of the car, then work things forward to see who the real owner is."

Matthew watched carefully as the headshot of a large man with a bald head came up on the screen.

"Shane Kuze," William said crisply. "From Sunderland. No internet presence, no social media accounts. We did find a listing for him as a general labourer for a trucking company."

"Trucking company," Alex huffed, shaking his head. "That's rather typical, isn't it?"

"There are some legitimate trucking companies left in the world," Matthew joked.

"Sadly, Mr. Kuze does not work for one of them," William said lightly. "Shane Kuze is acutally known to his friends and associates as Stanislav Kuznetsov. He was born in England but his grandfather brought the family over from Minsk decades ago."

"He's Russian Mafia," Matthew said. "Which means…"

"The men that tried to abduct Lady Mary were Russian Mafia as well," Alex said.

"They actually prefer the term Bratva," William said, glancing at the two men. "Erm…it means brotherhood," he said quietly.

Rose frowned as she looked at the screen.

"It most likely was not a planned operation targeting Lady Mary," William continued. "The Russians will assign crews to various places in the City – Heathrow, King's Cross, bars and nightclubs, on the lookout for…erm…candidates."

"Candidates," Alex repeated, looking over at Matthew. "I don't want to ask."

"Prostitution, mainly, I expect," Matthew said plainly. "They usually ship them off to other countries, thereby isolating them and forcing them to work, or something worse. There's apparently markets in the Middle East and China where wealthy buyers bid on women."

Rose blinked.

"Following Lady Mary to the strip club would seem to be rather drastic," Alex said. "Do you think they knew who she was?"

"They must have, but I think Mr. Mason is right. It was just a small crew looking for…candidates…they stumbled upon Mary and the others and made their move," Matthew said. "They were going to hold her for ransom, I would think. That would be the most profitable option."

Rose cringed.

"Well, they don't know that we are aware of them, or their operations," Matthew continued, looking back at the large television screen. "We don't have anywhere near the will or the resources to take on the Russian Mafia, and Mary doesn't want us to look into it any further. They made their play, Red Team stopped them without any casualties, that's the end of it, in her view, and I agree."

"I'll archive the information, just in case," William said, closing up his laptop.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason," Matthew said crisply.

William and Alex both left the room. Rose remained behind.

"I expect you want me to go back to Vietnam on the next flight," she mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"Robert and Cora just got back and will want some time with you, plus the grand opening is next week," Matthew said, watching her carefully. "Do you believe you should leave?"

"I don't want to," she said, lifting her eyes and looking at him finally. "But I will if you order me to, or even if you let me stay and say I need to keep away from Mary, I'll do that, too."

He looked at her for a moment, then got up from his chair and walked towards her.

"Rose, the nature of our careers puts us at risk, as we all know," he said as he approached her. "As for your particular choice of entertainment for Mary's hen night, well, I can't say I was surprised at all, and it isn't as though what you decided on was out of the ordinary at all. Perhaps there were safer venues you could have chosen, but that's partly why we have security in place. Ultimately, Red Team did their job, and Mary and you girls enjoyed yourselves immensely. If something had gone wrong, then we'd be having a much different conversation, but as it stands, I see no reason to discipline you further."

"Thank you, Matthew," she said meekly.

"As for you arranging for Mary to have a private dance, well, obviously I wasn't thrilled about that, but again, it isn't as though it was totally unexpected. Besides, if Mary was going to be tempted by some naked black man with a ridiculous build, better that I find out now than after we're married," he said easily.

"Erm…right," she said. "But she didn't do anything, and I knew she wouldn't!"

"As did I," he said, giving her a slight smirk. "Rose, let's not forget that I assigned Red Team to watch over all of you, not just Mary and her sisters. Even though you're maddeningly annoying sometimes, you're family, and that has nothing to do with you being Mary's cousin."

She brightened at that.

"Anyway, this is all just a phase," he went on, looking at her playfully. "I know that eventually you'll outgrow all of this and have a proper relationship, appreciate the more quiet moments in life, and not feel the need to shock the rest of us all the time."

"Not likely," Rose said, smirking at him. "Come on, Matthew. I'm not the domestic type, you know that."

"And Mary is?" he laughed. "I'm not talking about you staying at home, barefoot and pregnant. I mean that, with the right person, you don't have to go clubbing every night and dance until dawn just to have a good time."

"Jack and I don't go clubbing every night," she protested. "We probably spend more time just eating and walking around the night markets."

"And?" he teased.

"And I find it…quite lovely," she admitted.

"Interesting," he said, smiling at her knowingly.

"Don't even think it," she said, glaring at him pointedly. "We've been dating officially for just a few months. He's not going to be meeting Mummy and Daddy anytime soon."

"All right, come on," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go and get some food."

She grinned and leaned in to him as they left the office.

"Matthew, you know you have nothing to worry about, right?" Rose said as they went down the hall. "I've never seen Mary as happy as she is when she's with you. Honestly, I know she doesn't talk about this sort of thing openly, but she absolutely adores you. No man could steal her from you. I'm sure of it."

"Yes, I know," he said, nodding his head and smiling at her.

 _ **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, May 2016**_

"Matthew," Mary whimpered, pressing her forehead against his, her eyes squeezed shut. "So good. So good."

Her music playlist continued to fill the room around them, but they weren't paying attention anymore. Really, they had stopped playing stripper and customer a few songs ago, to be fair. In the midst of the fifth or sixth song of her lap dance, he had slipped his hand past her panties, her obvious arousal giving him all the prompting he needed. As his fingers thrust harder and deeper, she stopped dancing, just lying back against him, pushing her hips back and forth to assist as he sent her over for the first time. She shouted in pleasure, not caring how loud she was being, the alcohol, the earlier events of the evening and acting out Matthew's fantasy sending her desire spiralling.

When she finally came down, she raised up off of him and hurriedly removed his clothes and her own panties, a thrill running through her when he ordered her to leave her stockings on. She knelt before him and took him into her mouth. She even said his name just before sliding him past her lips, a bit of sweet justice, her own retort to the hijinks of earlier in the night.

With great difficulty, he kept his eyes open, watching her kneeling between his legs, listening to the lewd sounds of her attending to him, trying to restrain himself all the while. He almost lost it when she glanced up at him, their eyes meeting. When she heard him grunt with the strain of trying to keep control, she stood up and straddled him, maintaining eye contact all the while as she lowered herself on to him.

They found a rhythm together almost immediately, his hands holding her hips as she rode him. He watched her, the change in her face as she got closer and closer to the brink driving him mad. Yes, it was hot to think of her as a stripper and he as her customer. Yes, he was very turned on by acting out one of his fantasies. But it was in this moment, making love to his fiancée, to Mary, that he was truly overwhelmed. All the roleplaying and dirty pillow talk was exciting, but being with her like this, as just Mary and Matthew, was more powerful than anything.

She kissed him, drowning her moans in his mouth. Her arms circled his neck and shoulders, hanging on to him, her breasts against his chest, her face a breath apart from his as they both became more desperate for release. She crashed first, crying out and burying her face in his shoulder. He kept thrusting, and she was still floating when he let go inside of her, both of them groaning at the sensation.

They stayed like that for several minutes, warm, damp skin pressed close together, both of them taking in air greedily. She seemed to feel tired all at once, the evening finally catching up to her, and she nuzzled against him as he found the strength to pick her up and carry her to bed, the two of them collapsing wearily under the covers, not even bothering to put any clothes on. She settled on her side, smiling as she felt him spoon behind her, his arm tucking underneath her breasts. She would need to speak to Anna and her sisters when she woke up later, assuage their fears about what exactly she did in the private room at the strip club. It was annoying that they could even suspect her of any betrayal. For now though, lying in Matthew's arms, a new understanding between them, a new part of their relationship now open for them to explore together, she felt nothing but bliss.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, May 2016**

Mary sipped her champagne as she looked across the full casino floor. The expansion had been open for business for months now, of course, but tonight was the official unveiling, complete with media and esteemed guests. Even Granny, Aunt Rosamund and Isobel had made the trip down. The speeches were kept to a minimum and the large space was soon filled with laughter and the usual cheers and groans of gambling.

Perhaps the best compliment she had received was her Papa's silent nod of approval. He was hosting a number of his peers – Viscount Branksome, Harry Stoke and the like. They were sequestered at their own table in the High Limit Room, laughing drinking, trading stories and enjoying themselves. It had been ages since Papa had visited any of the casinos, let alone entertained his friends here. The sight of him happy and relaxed inside the space that she had created filled her with pride and satisfaction. He would never openly tell her that she had done a good job and that he was accepting of his retirement. That wasn't his way, or hers, for that matter. Tonight though, her eyes saw all she needed to see.

"Alex and Anna just left," Matthew said, coming to her side. "I assume you dismissed them?"

"I did," she said, nodding as she continued to look out across the floor. "Obviously they didn't ask you. You no longer work here."

"I'm still using all my old business cards, though," he replied smoothly. "I find that the title still carries a lot of clout."

"Using a fake job to impress people, are you?" she asked, still not looking at him. "My, what brilliant geniuses are falling for that?"

"Well, there's this delightful little after hours club I found, you see, with some rather talented dancers…" he began.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Funny."

"I noticed a new appointment on my calendar for tomorrow," he said, glancing over the casino floor. "Would you happen to know what that's regarding?"

"I would," she said playfully. "We're going to look at a place in Knightsbridge. The one near the park."

"Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "I quite liked that listing. The ensuite bathroom has an infinity bathtub."

"It does," she said. "It's also just a half-hour bike ride from your office. Speaking of which, is the work done yet? Sybil said they were wrapping things up yesterday?"

"It is done, yes," he confirmed. "It would have been ready earlier, but Sybil drove the workers mad changing the paint colour in her office half a dozen times."

She smiled at that.

"So when do I get a personal tour of the esteemed offices of The Reginald Crawley Charitable Foundation?" she asked, finally turning to look at him and arching her eyebrow. "I should hope you would want to impress me. After all, we're considering making a rather large donation to get you started."

"Very soon," he said, chuckling as he looked at her and met her eyes. "I was planning for tomorrow evening, actually, once you were done here."

"Won't Sybil be gone by then?" she asked.

"She will be, yes," he said, looking at her intently. "It'll just be the two of us."

"I see," she said, looking at him while she sipped her champagne.

"You know, when I was at university, at one point I had plans of practising law for a few years after graduation, while my other business got off the ground," he said, leaning towards her.

"Did you? In what area?" she asked, intrigued.

"Oh, just something simple, wills and estates maybe," he replied. "I imagined having a small office in Manchester, or here."

"Just putting up your shingle," she noted, smiling at the image.

"Something like that. I would think about ringing you up and letting you know, inviting you to come see my office," he said quietly.

She arched her eyebrow and smirked. "Did you?"

"I did, indeed," he replied.

"And in this…dream…of yours, was I impressed by your premises?" she asked.

"Very, as a matter of fact," he said smoothly.

"And did you imagine me helping you…christen…your desk?" she teased.

He nodded, his eyes staring at her in that way that made her stomach flutter. "The desk, the credenza, the boardroom table…"

"Goodness," she said. "Well, your new offices are surely much larger than the space you imagined having years ago?"

"They are," he said, reaching out and taking her hand. "A few more rooms, more furniture, more windows."

"Hmm," she said, smiling at him and squeezing his hand. "Well, it sounds as though we'll need to plan on a rather lengthy tour. It seems you have a great deal to show me."

He grinned as she turned and led him away from the casino and towards the exit.


	42. Chapter 42

**Previously:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, May 2016**

"You know, when I was at university, at one point I had plans of practising law for a few years after graduation, while my other business got off the ground," he said, leaning towards her.

"Did you? In what area?" she asked, intrigued.

"Oh, just something simple, wills and estates maybe," he replied. "I imagined having a small office in Manchester, or here."

"Just putting up your shingle," she noted, smiling at the image.

"Something like that. I would think about ringing you up and letting you know, inviting you to come see my office," he said quietly.

She arched her eyebrow and smirked. "Did you?"

"I did, indeed," he replied.

"And in this…dream…of yours, was I impressed by your premises?" she asked.

"Very, as a matter of fact," he said smoothly.

"And did you imagine me helping you…christen…your desk?" she teased.

He nodded, his eyes staring at her in that way that made her stomach flutter. "The desk, the credenza, the boardroom table…"

"Goodness," she said. "Well, your new offices are surely much larger than the space you imagined having years ago?"

"They are," he said, reaching out and taking her hand. "A few more rooms, more furniture, more windows."

"Hmm," she said, smiling at him and squeezing his hand. "Well, it sounds as though we'll need to plan on a rather lengthy tour."

He grinned as she turned and led him away from the casino and towards the exit.

 **Chapter 42:**

 **London Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, June 2016**

"I won't pay a pound over £13.5 million for it," Mary declared, swiping across her tablet and scrolling through the real estate listing. "We'll need to do extensive renovations for the top floor, and they're at the high end of all comparables in the neighbourhood, besides."

Matthew glanced over at her from his comfortable position sitting in bed. He smiled in amusement at her pacing around, her eyes focused on her tablet screen. The familiar serious expression across her face told him she was concentrating on an important task – in this case the offer price for what may be their future home together – however the fact she was wearing a camisole and boy shorts, and her hair was tied up in a ponytail presented a rather comical contrast.

"Are we really going to haggle over 500,000 quid?" he asked. "It isn't as though we won't make that back practically from the moment we move in. Let's just come in at asking and get it over with."

"Matthew, honestly," she scoffed, stopping her pacing to give him a frown. "The house has been listed for over a month and they've already had one deal fall through. They'll take our offer if they aren't stupid."

"I just don't see the value in negotiating just because you don't want to give them their full price," he replied. "It isn't as though we can't afford it."

"That's not the point," she stated, coming over and sitting down on her side of the bed. "We could buy the entire street if we wanted to, but that's also irrelevant. I don't pay more than what something is worth, and in my opinion, that house is not worth more than 13,5."

"All right," he said. "I'll have Brandon draw up the papers."

"Good," she said, smiling as she put her tablet on the nightstand. "Now you're helping."

He rolled his eyes and grunted sarcastically as he sent the text message.

She watched him, taking in his firm arms, bare chest and hard abs. Matthew always slept topless, something she'd gotten used to quite early on in their relationship. She had been rather surprised by his physique when she first discovered it, shocked even. He wore his clothes well, particularly his bespoke suits, but seeing him at the office did no justice to his true fitness. Only after a few weeks of dating, when she saw up close for herself what his workout regimen was, and how often he trained for cycling, did she understand the effort he put into his appearance.

"There, done," he declared, reaching over and putting his phone on his nightstand.

She smiled and settled down on her side, still looking at him.

"What?" he asked, smirking at her. "You look rather smug. Picturing how you'll decorate our new home, are you?"

"No, I was just wondering about something, something else," she answered.

"And what would that be?" he asked, lying back against the pillows and bringing the duvet up to his waist.

"When did you say you started cycling, again?" she asked.

"In university," he said. "I used to bike around campus and started going for longer rides, then eventually got a real road bike and took it more seriously. Why?"

"No reason, just curious," she said lightly. "And was that around the same time that you started going to the gym more often?"

"Thereabouts, yes," he said, nodding his head. "Alex dragged me along at some point and it went from there. I was always active, played football and tennis, but never really beyond just having a run with the lads. I didn't really enjoy working out and such in the beginning, but it got better the more often I did it and became a bit of a routine."

She nodded in acknowledgment.

"What?" he asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"Nothing," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "So, you simply wanted to live a healthier, more active lifestyle?"

"That was part of it, yes," he said. "Although I still ate rather horribly. That got better during law school when I had to fend for myself more."

"I see," she said simply.

He raised his eyebrow and looked at her carefully. She smiled smugly, looking down, playing with an imaginary loose thread on the duvet.

"You couldn't possibly be thinking that I did all of that for you, could you?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not," she replied dismissively, though her lips were curled in a smirk. "We were barely in touch back then."

"Precisely," he said.

"You were still entirely in love with me, and were planning out ways to impress me, but that doesn't mean you made lifestyle decisions with me in mind," she said lightly.

He rolled his eyes. "Just because I was in love with you even back then does not mean that everything I did was for your benefit. Every man tries to get in better shape at some point, particularly during university."

"Yes, that's true," she allowed. "People pursue healthier choices to look better, and to feel better about themselves, and the prospect of appearing more attractive to those they are interested in doesn't enter into it, I'm sure."

"Don't flatter yourself," he said. "I wasn't so stupid as to think that you'd actually be impressed and somehow start being nice to me just because I developed some muscle."

"That's true. Muscles alone wouldn't have done it, particularly since I never bothered to notice yours until recently," she said. "However, are you honestly trying to tell me that I wasn't part of your motivation at all?"

"Perhaps a very small part," he grumbled. "I may have thought about how you might react to the newer, more fit version of me from time to time, but it isn't as though you were on my mind when I went to the gym."

"Truly?" she asked. "Well, I'll ask Alex tomorrow if his recollection matches yours."

"What? Why?" he asked.

"Well, you yourself said that Alex dragged you to the gym," she noted. "He would remember if you ever mentioned my name, I'm sure."

"Even if he did, what makes you think he'd divulge anything to you?" he demanded.

"He may be your best friend, darling, but we both know he enjoys nothing more than pointing out any mistake you make, whether actual, or perceived," she pointed out.

"Crikey," he muttered.

"Remembering anything else?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him knowingly.

"I may have kept a photograph of you in my locker," he mumbled.

"Is that so?" she squealed in triumph. "And did you look at me before going to work out?"

"Yes," he said drily.

"Every time?" she questioned.

"Well, it would have been quite difficult to change my clothes and not look at you," he retorted.

"How adorable," she laughed, reaching over and kissing him lightly.

"Yes, yes, how sickeningly cute," he groaned. "You know, I think it's time that you revealed an embarrassing moment of yours to me."

"Well that will be difficult, considering that I don't do anything even remotely embarrassing," she said smoothly.

"Fine," he said. "Something adorable, then, and cute, and sappy, and all the rest of it. Give me something that I can lord over you, even a little."

"Hmm," she mused for a moment. "Something for you to lord over me. No, can't think of anything, I'm afraid."

"All right, all right," he sighed. "We know that I've loved you from the moment we met as children. We know you didn't really have feelings for me until I came to London. Just tell me something that I don't know, about us."

"About us?" she repeated.

"About us," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers. "Something to give me a bit of an ego boost."

"Is that why?" she laughed. "Why is it that for someone who is supremely confident and decisive in almost everything he does, you enjoy asking for these reassurances?"

"I don't need to be reassured," he remarked, smiling at her. "I just like hearing you talk about me glowingly."

She rolled her eyes as he laughed.

"All right," she said finally, meeting his eyes. "There is something that you don't know about us."

"I'm listening," he said, lifting his arm to let her snuggle closer to him and lean against his chest and shoulder.

"It's true that I did not have many boyfriends at all growing up," she said, running her hand across his chest. "There were always boys around, and it isn't as though I didn't date, but so few became anything serious. Partly it was because I was focused on my career and the person I wanted to become, and partly it was that I expected a great deal from anyone who wanted to be with me. It's a lot to ask anyone to adjust to my family, let alone to understand what it is that we do. I was always reluctant to open up to anyone, mainly because I was too concerned of what would happen if I told someone the truth about my family and it ended up not working out."

He nodded, caressing her back slowly. It was rare for Mary to discuss this sort of thing – her past, the pressure she felt from her family history and the duties imposed by it. He stayed quiet and waited for her to continue.

"My natural reaction was to be dismissive of any suitor, of course," she admitted with a laugh. "Anyone endorsed by my parents was automatically at a disadvantage – like you – and I just didn't want to be pressured into accepting anyone. Besides that though, the men I went out with just weren't particularly impressive. The ones who were family friends knew all about what we did, but were rather entitled and spoiled, or worse, they were like Patrick, a bit too in love with the lifestyle and easily seduced by some juvenile fantasy of drugs, guns, and women."

She took a deep breath, each of them pausing at the mention of Patrick.

"Anyway, there are moments, not many of them, but a few, where I do feel rather fortunate," she explained. "I think about what if I had ended up with someone else, someone who didn't understand my family and my world as well as you, or someone who perhaps understood them too much. What if my husband wasn't as supportive of my career, or insisted that I be more supportive of his? I…I'm lucky. I know I am."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I love you too," he said warmly.

She patted his stomach, then raised her head and looked at him.

"You know, during the Season Party, when I found out you went off to confront Sir Richard on your own, I panicked. I was worried for you, of course, worried about what might happen if you were alone with him. But it wasn't just your safety that concerned me. I panicked because I had a horrible vision of life without you, and it was terrifying, and I realized in that moment that we weren't just a well matched couple, or simply right together. You're a part of me. I can't specify the exact moment when you became so, but I don't want to think of life without you."

He looked at her earnestly and smiled. "I like the sound of that."

"So," she said, smiling herself now. "You loved me first, yes. You have been far more devoted to me, for far longer, than I've been to you. You're more demonstrative, and thoughtful, and romantic. But never, ever doubt how much I love you, Matthew. It may have taken me years to come around to you, but now that I have, I'm not going anywhere."

She leaned into him and kissed him firmly.

 **Office of The Reginald Crawley Charitable Foundation, Monument, London, England, July 2016**

"When are you flying in?" Sybil asked, looking at the video screen on her larg computer monitor.

"Probably a week from today," Rose replied, shrugging her shoulders. "That will give me a week to recover from the flight, visit with everyone and be sufficiently cheerful in time for the wedding."

"That's rather responsible of you," Sybil teased, smiling at her cousin. "I thought you were going to say you were coming in extra early because there was some concert you wanted to go to, or some club you wanted to check out."

"No, no, not this time," Rose groaned, shaking her head. "I've promised Jack that I'll behave. Besides, I can't risk pissing off Matthew or Alex so close to the wedding, either."

"Not to mention Granny," Sybil reminded her. "She's rather angry with you still over your last visit."

"I know, I know," Rose sighed. "I do feel terrible that I barely saw her, but it isn't as though she makes it easy! She barely comes to London anymore and even when she does, she's usually off somewhere with Isobel. She's busier than I am, I swear."

"She's just glad to have her around. The two of them were just here, actually, with Mama," Sybil said.

"Ah," Rose smiled. "And did they give any more helpful suggestions on how to do your job?"

"Not this time, no, thank God," Sybil said, shaking her head. "I feel like I'm about to throw up every time they look over one of my pitch books. One day, Isobel will tell me that I'm ruining her husband's good name, for real."

"Come on, darling," Rose chastised her. "Isobel loves you. You can't possibly think that Matthew would hire you without consulting her first."

"I know, but it's different now," Sybil complained. "Before, I was just Mary's baby sister, the cute one who followed Matthew around and grew up to rebel against my family. Now, I'm supposed to actually have a clue what I'm doing and have some sort of expertise on how to manage tens of millions of Matthew's money. It was easy before to just have Matthew listen to my opinions. Now, I actually have to know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, muffin," Rose said with mock pity, pouting her lips and giving Sybil a sad face.

"Fuck off," Sybil said, laughing and shaking her head. "I have to go. I've got a reporter coming by for an interview."

"Interesting!" Rose said. "From where?"

"The Guardian," Sybil said. "They're doing a feature on various London charities and how Millenials are donating to more and more social causes. They wanted to interview Matthew but he's got no time, so now I've got to do it."

"Well, you are the Vice-President," Rose said. "All right, I've got to go too. We're leaving for dinner. Love you!"

"Love you," Sybil replied, turning off the video call.

She spent the next twenty minutes organizing her notes for the interview, making sure the boardroom was clean and there was plenty of snacks, fruit, and drinks available. Little details like making sure she had her business cards handy and marketing materials set aside did not come naturally to her, so she spent a lot of time going back and forth between various offices, until finally she was certain that everything was ready.

Her phone buzzed and she answered it, instructing the receptionist to show the reporter in to the boardroom. Smoothing over her skirt one last time, she put on a polite smile when the receptionist escorted in a man a bit taller than Sybil, with light brown hair and blue eyes.

"Lady Sybil," he said, extending his hand. "Very pleased to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to be included in our feature."

"Oh, please, it's just Sybil," she replied cheerfully, shaking his hand and gesturing for him to have a seat at the boardroom table. "Would you like a drink, Mr. Branson?"

"Tom," he said, smiling at her as he sat down. "And no thank you. I'm quite all right, Sybil."

 **The British Museum, London, England, July 2016**

"Thonis-Heracleion was named after Hercules," Matthew said pleasantly. "It was a major commercial hub in its day, linking Egypt to the Mediterranean."

"Mmm hmm," Robert replied, glancing around at the exhibits as they strolled along. The Earl kept his hands linked behind his back, his three-piece suit rather out of place amongst the groups of tourists wearing shorts and t-shirts and children in their jumpers and casual wear.

Matthew pursed his lips and kept on, already organizing his complaints so he could relay his annoyance to Mary later. She was out with Cora and his mother once again dealing with the final details for the wedding, and Robert had to be occupied. Over the past week, he'd taken his future father-in-law to numerous cafés, walked along the Thames and even given him a tour of the Foundation office. He'd had more dates with Robert than he'd had with Mary as of late, he thought ruefully.

"Quite impressive," Robert said curtly, looking at a large statue of the Egyptian God Ra.

"Yes," Matthew agreed, falling into step with him as they continued on.

"Have you decided where you're going on honeymoon?" Robert asked lightly, still looking straight ahead.

Matthew blinked in surprise. "Erm, yes. We're going to California, the northern part. Napa Valley. Wine Country. It's seems quite beautiful, and the weather will be warm, not hot."

"Mmm," Robert said, considering his answer. "That's quite nice. We made a stop in San Francisco during the cruise. Lovely city."

Matthew nodded and they returned to silence.

"Mary seems quite happy," Robert stated, still looking straight ahead. "Even with all the planning and such, she still appears to me to be a bride on the brink of Heaven. I must say I never expected to see her so eager for her own wedding. Pleased, yes, even boastful. But, she's happy, and I suppose I have you to thank for that."

"We're both happy," Matthew replied. "Very much so."

"I know it won't matter to you overly much, but I don't hate you, Matthew," Robert said, finally looking at him directly. "I brought you here wanting you to fit in with my plans for the company and the family, but I can't begrudge you for having your own, and it's all come up roses for you so far, so I must accept that it's all turned out for the best."

"Thank you," Matthew said after a moment of consideration. "And it does matter, to me, and to Mary."

"I'm still concerned, though," Robert said tiredly. "As Mary's father, I think I always will be. She's not like Edith and Sybil. Her standards are higher, fair or not. It's a credit to you that she's come this far already, but I worry for the both of you, I'm afraid."

Matthew supressed the jolt of anger that tightened his chest, and waited before replying.

"Robert, I know better than most that nothing is promised to us," he said carefully. "When…when Papa died, life seemed just so unfair. I had a great deal of rage about the entire thing, sometimes even wondered if Mother would have been better off having never met him in the first place, and lived a simpler life with someone else."

Robert frowned and watched him closely.

"We never spoke about it," Matthew continued. "I felt too ashamed to mention it to her. However, eventually I realized that the memories that she has of Papa are far stronger than the grief that she feels at his loss. It's taken me a while, but I feel the same way. I miss him every day, but I'm also thankful for him every day, and the all too brief time that I had with him is something to be cherished. I know that now."

Robert's expression softened.

"I miss him too," the Earl stated. "He was one of my few friends who cared about me enough to be honest with me, about everything. I suppose that's where you get it from."

Matthew chuckled and nodded to him.

"Nothing is promised to us," he repeated. "So I'm not going to worry about whether Mary will ever become bored with me, or I with her; whether we'll ever grow apart because of this thing, or that thing. I'm not going to concern myself with any rivals we may have, anyone out there who may be plotting our demise, or that of the company. I'm going to love her now, as a husband should, and whatever the future will bring will not change what we've shared so far, or how I feel about her now."

Robert turned away and stayed quiet, a slight smile finally crossing his lips.

"To be clear, however, it is my intention that we live the rest of our lives together," Matthew added.

"Of course it is," Robert replied cheerfully.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2016**

"All right, I'm off," Sybil said, grabbing her purse.

"Don't be long or Rose will start the party without you," Mary said, arching her eyebrow as she took a drink of tea.

"She wouldn't dare," Sybil warned, giving her cousin a knowing look. "I'll be right back."

"Tell him that I love him," Mary said lightly. "And tell him he better not be late tomorrow."

"I will," Sybil laughed, kissing Mary on the cheek and bouncing out of the parlour, heading for the front door.

"Do you think he'll like his gift?" Edith asked, smiling and taking a bite of biscotti.

"He better," Mary retorted. "I had to move Heaven and Earth to get it for him."

Rose laughed.

They all looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps coming into the parlour and someone nervously clearing their throat.

"Might I have a word with the bride-to-be?" Robert asked, smiling at the girls.

"Of course, Papa," Edith said pleasantly, exchanging a glance with Mary. "Rose and I will just go and see how Mrs. Bute is getting on with our food."

Rose got up from the settee and accompanied Edith out the door, the two of them kissing Robert on the cheek as they left. Mary smiled as her father blushed and smiled sheepishly, before he resumed his composure and came over to sit down on the couch next to her chair.

"Yes, Papa, what is it?" she asked easily. "Here to impart some last minute words of wisdom? I expect Mama will have plenty to say tomorrow morning before we leave for the Church."

"I'm sure she will, yes," Robert chuckled. "No, I just wanted to see you, to have a quiet moment on the night before your wedding."

"Goodness, you're not going to say something about me not being your little girl anymore, are you?" she teased, putting her tea cup and saucer down on the coffee table.

"No, no, you haven't been that for some time, now," he said, smiling wistfully. He reached out his hand to her.

She blinked in surprise and looked at him cautiously. Seeing his hopeful expression, she smiled and placed her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"I've always had very high expectations for you, Mary," he began. "I've put a great deal of pressure on you, I know. Now that things have played out as they have, I ought to acknowledge that a part of me pushed you because I wanted to see you when you would fail, and the more tests you passed, the more I tried harder to make things more difficult for you. If that's caused you any amount of suffering, and I wouldn't be surprised if it had, I'm sorry, truly."

"Will wonders never cease?" she said quietly, looking at him in complete shock.

He laughed and rubbed her hand. "I think I knew years ago that my eldest child was a child no more and was quite tough and skilled enough to run the kingdom, should she be called upon to do so," he said. "You were always better than Patrick, but you were so young, I thought, and I kept making up reasons why you weren't ready, because it meant that I could hang on to power for a little while longer. Putting you off became a matter of survival, because I was terrified that if I lost my company, I would lose all relevance, all sense of value and purpose."

"Oh, Papa," she said, covering his hand with both of his and shaking her head.

"It's rather ironic, isn't it?" he said softly, smiling at her. "I brought Matthew here to delay your ascension, and even wanted you to marry him because I thought it would quell your ambition a bit. Now, here we are. He had other plans, clearly."

"He can be rather annoying that way," she said.

"I am quite pleased with how it's all worked out, Mary, truly," he stated. "The expansion, the way you've modernized all of our operations. You've done brilliantly well, and the company is in very good hands."

"I should have this conversation recorded, if only to serve as proof that it actually took place," she exclaimed.

"Too late for that," he joked. "I want you to know that I'm not just proud of your professional achievements, though. Your Mama will say this far more eloquently, I'm sure, but I'm proud of you, Mary. Matthew is a good man, and he'll make you happy."

"He's done that already," she replied. "And I'm not referring at all to being President."

"I know you're not," he assured her. "Well, then, I'll see you in the morning."

They both stood up. "You certainly will," she said. "I won't be able to get to the altar without you."

They hugged warmly, and Robert kissed her cheek before releasing her. As she watched her Papa leave the parlour, Mary couldn't shake the rather stupid grin on her face, nor did she want to.

 **Maxims Casino Club, Kensington, London, England, August 2016**

"Good evening, Lady Sybil," the security guard said, unclipping the velvet rope and stepping aside to let her pass.

Sybil smiled and nodded to him and walked into the private room, entirely empty save for the three people seated around the poker table at the far side.

"Do you have any eights?" Alex asked carefully, staring at his cards.

"Nope. Go fish," Matthew said smugly, leaning back in his chair and sipping his Coke.

Anna laughed and shook her head, leaning against Alex and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Really? Fuck," Alex grumbled, reaching into the messy pile of cards and drawing one out. "Damn," he muttered, shaking his head and adding the card to his hand.

"So this is how millionaire playboys amuse themselves, is it?" Sybil teased, coming over and kissing Matthew.

"Hello, soon-to-be-sister-in-law," Matthew said, kissing her back. "I know. It's quite impressive, isn't it?"

"Much," Sybil said sarcastically. "Anna, are you ready? Mary's rather impatient, as you can imagine. Taylor already has your luggage stowed in the car."

"All set," Anna replied. She turned to Alex and kissed his cheek. "Try and enjoy yourself, yeah?"

"You too, love," Alex replied, turning and kissing her on the lips. "See you in the morning."

"Mary says she loves you, still, but that you had best not be late tomorrow," Sybil said, smiling at Matthew.

"If anyone is going to be late, it's her," Matthew said, shrugging his shoulders. "The ceremony can't start until she arrives, which is rather fitting."

"It is," Sybil chuckled. She reached into her purse and took out an envelope, putting it on the green felt in front of Matthew.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"Your pre-wedding present," Sybil said. "From Mary."

He set his cards down and picked up the envelope, frowning as he examined it. Finally, he turned it over and opened it, removing several papers.

"What are those? Last minute instructions?" Alex asked.

"No, they're…cheques," Matthew said in surprise, flipping through the stack. "From Citibank, Wynn, MGM, some private individuals, all made out…to the Foundation."

Sybil grinned as she watched him stare at the cheques in confusion.

"There's millions here," he said, turning to look at Sybil in shock.

"Mary raised it all," Sybil said. "She went to Henry, and Tony, and Evelyn, and a number of her corporate partners and allies and hit them up for donations for you. I've already deposited all of the funds to the Foundation accounts, but she wanted you to see the actual cheques."

"This is incredible," he muttered, putting the cheques down on the table.

"Indeed," Sybil said, smiling at Alex and Anna. "It's almost as though your future wife loves you so much that she's willing to support you in your new career. Imagine that."

Matthew laughed and shook his head. "All right, get going, both of you."

Sybil kissed him and rubbed his back. "See you tomorrow."

He smiled as Sybil and Anna left the room.

"That is rather profound and meaningful present," Alex said, looking at his cards again. "It makes the lingerie you got for her seem quite crass and superficial."

"Ha ha," Matthew grumbled, picking up his cards. "Do you have any Aces?"

"Take 'em," Alex sighed, shaking his head as he threw two cards across the table at Matthew.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2016**

"My grandfather worked his way up from nothing," Edith declared, reading off the card in her hand. "When he came to this country, all he had was the shoes on his feet and…"

She looked up at the others expectantly.

Sybil, Anna, Mary and Rose all examined their cards, deciding which one to play.

"A cat video so cute that your eyes roll and your spine slides out of your anus!" Sybil squealed, putting a card down on the table for everyone else to see.

"That's fucking brilliant!" Rose cackled.

"Beats mine. I've got 'Fun and interesting facts about rocks'," Anna chuckled, putting her card down.

"No, Sybil's is still my favourite," Edith said. "Rose?"

"I thought I was going to take this one, actually," Rose said, shrugging her shoulders. "I've got 'Pictures of boobs'."

They all laughed as she put her card down.

"Mary?" Edith asked. "Oh, she's got a good one, I can tell!"

Mary tried to look confused, though her smile gave her away.

"Come on, darling, show us what you've got!" Sybil asked, giggling as she leaned against Rose.

"All right," Mary said confidently, placing her card on the table.

"German dungeon porn," Rose read.

They all went quiet.

"That's amazing!" Sybil shouted as they all burst out laughing.

"I'll take that over cat videos anytime," Rose chimed in. "All right, that's this round to Mary."

Anna put a checkmark next to Mary's name on a notepad and they all took a sip from their drinks before Edith drew the next card.

"Excuse me, Lady Mary," Mrs. Bute called from the doorway.

"Yes, Mrs. Bute, what is it?" Mary asked, looking up from the couch.

"We have something for you, my Lady," Mrs. Bute said, nodding as Bates carried a box into the parlour. It was wrapped in blue wrapping paper with a white ribbon. He brought it over and placed it on the coffee table.

"My, my," Rose said, looking at the present.

"Mr. Crawley instructed us not to give it to you until now, my Lady," Bates told her.

"Thank you, both of you," Mary said, dismissing the servants. She looked at the present curiously.

"What do you suppose it is?" Edith asked.

"He had literally no clue what Mary was going to get for him, so this had to be something he got beforehand," Sybil said.

Mary stood up and pulled the bow off before lifting the lid.

"Should we all be here to see this?" Edith asked. "Perhaps it's meant to be something Mary opens in private?"

"If it is, then I definitely want to see it!" Rose said.

Mary rolled her eyes at her cousin's comment, then picked up the card sitting on top of the white tissue paper inside the box.

"To my darling fiancée, Mary," she read aloud, shaking her head. "Just a few things I thought you could use. See you in the morning. Love always, Matthew."

"Aww," Anna said.

Mary shook her head and opened the tissue paper. She arched her eyebrow as she reached in and pulled out the first item.

"Go Matthew, wow," Rose cheered as Mary held up a very lacy red negligee.

"So typical," Mary said, shaking her head as she set the lingerie aside and reached back into the box.

"What's that?" Edith asked.

"It says 'grow up, Rose,'" Mary said, laughing and tossing the card to her cousin.

"He thinks he's just so fucking clever," Rose grumbled, taking the card and shaking her head.

"All right, what's that one say?" Anna asked, as Mary took out another card, larger than the one for Rose.

"It's…goodness…it's a reservation for The French Laundry, this restaurant in Napa. Supposedly it's impossible to get a table unless you call months in advance," Mary said.

"Did he know you wanted to go there?" Sybil asked.

"I think I may have mentioned it once in passing, just when he told me that we were going to California for the honeymoon," Mary replied, setting the card aside. "Well, that will be quite fun."

Edith and Sybil shared a smile at Mary's obvious delight.

Mary laughed as she took out two small rectangles.

"What in the world are those?" Rose asked.

"They're samples," Mary explained, looking at the two rectangles. "This is Carrara marble, from Tuscany. I was considering it for the island and counters in the kitchen of our new house. And this is black oak, for the cabinets. I think Matthew may have ordered a supply of each for me to play around with."

"He bought you construction materials," Rose said. "How romantic."

"Did you know about this?" Mary asked Edith.

"I may, or may not have helped him source and order it all," Edith replied with a smile. "There's actually a bunch of skids at my office for you to look over when you get back. There's appliances as well."

Mary laughed and put the samples down on the coffee table.

"Anything else?" Sybil asked, watching expectantly.

"Just this…" Mary said, taking out a velvet box. She stared at it for a while, holding it in her hands.

"That can't be…" Edith said quietly.

Mary opened the box and gasped.

"No fucking way," Rose said, sitting up and staring incredulously.

"What is it?" Anna asked, looking at all of the other women in confusion.

Mary swallowed nervously and took out a vintage diamond tiara, shaped in a floral pattern with a series of delicate diamond encrusted leaves flowing from one end to the other. She held it up in the light and Edith, Sybil and Rose all grinned.

"It's the tiara of the Countess of Grantham," Edith said, staring at the piece in wonder. "How did he get that?"

"It was destroyed over a century ago," Sybil told Anna. "There was a fire at Downton when Granny was a child, and some of the family jewellery was lost when part of the house collapsed. We all saw old, grainy black-and-white pictures of the tiara when we were growing up, but that was it. Granny ended up wearing a different one, and passing it on to Mama."

"He must have had it made," Mary whispered, looking at the brilliant gems. "Using Granny's old photographs. I mean, he would have seen us fawning over them when we were little, but how would he possibly have known to…"

"At this point, nothing Matthew remembers about you surprises me," Edith said. "It's as though he's paid attention to everything you've ever said."

Mary stared at Edith, then looked at Sybil's smiling face. She put the tiara back in the box and set it aside.

"He's so annoying," she said, smiling as she picked up her glass of wine. "I really thought I finally had him beat for once."

The other women laughed and reached for their cards to resume the game.

"Hey baby, come back to my place and I'll show you…" Edith recited, laughing at the new card.

 **St. Paul's Church, Knightsbridge, London, England, August 2016**

The black Mercedes-Maybach limousine moved slowly along The Mall. Matthew looked out the window, staring at the row of trees bordering the road through St. James's Park, his mind wandering.

"You're quite calm," Isobel noted, squeezing his hand.

He turned away from looking outside and smiled at her.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"What am I not thinking about?" he replied. "Mary, Papa, whether I've forgotten anything at the hotel, the song order when we get to the Church, how much time we have for photographs afterwards, how soon can we leave the reception and get to the airport. A lot of things."

Isobel smiled and nodded in understanding.

"Your father would be so very proud of you today, Matthew. He always liked Mary, and I think he realized that you did as well before anyone else did," she said.

"He did, yes," he agreed. "We're going to stop in and see him, before we head over to the States."

"Good," she said simply. "He'll like that."

"What about you?" he asked, looking at her intently. "Will you be here when we come back, or will you have gone off to wander the world again?"

"I promise you that I will be here, yes," she replied, patting his hand. "Or at least, in England. Violet refuses to let me leave. Every time I bring it up, she starts coughing, or says that she's feeling faint, or having tremors. I know it's all a ruse, but I can't bring myself to leave her."

"It's not as though you're both rooted to Dower House," he said, laughing at her. "You told me you loved Italy."

"We did, yes, we did," she said, nodding her head. "She has said we should take another trip, actually. Maybe I'll take her up on the offer after you and Mary come back."

"Just be quick about it, if you do," he said seriously. "You both need to be back in time for Alex and Anna's wedding, or he'll have a fit."

"Violet wouldn't miss it for the world," she said, laughing knowingly.

The limo moved along Constitution Hill, the sun shining down through the large panoramic sunroof. Matthew turned and smiled as he watched a group of cyclists pass in the opposite direction.

"This is my regular route, you know," he said, still looking out the window. "Even when I was younger, whenever I came up to the city, if the weather was warm enough, I'd take a quick spin on my bike along this very road. If you would have told me back then that one day I'd be taking this same road to go to a Church to make Mary my wife, I'd have said you were mad."

"And yet here we are, my darling boy," she said happily. "It's all come good."

"Would you have wanted it to go any differently?" he asked, looking at her. "Would you have wanted us to not be as close to Mary's family, for me to practise law, to make different choices?"

"The choices that all of us made have led us to where we are now," she said calmly. "It's gotten you the love of your life. I think that your father would call all the rest of it an acceptable amount of risk, given the reward."

Matthew smiled and turned back to the window as the Church came into view.


	43. Chapter 43

**Previously:**

 **St. Paul's Church, Knightsbridge, London, England, August 2016**

The limo moved along Constitution Hill, the sun shining down through the large panoramic sunroof. Matthew turned and smiled as he watched a group of cyclists pass in the opposite direction.

"This is my regular route, you know," he said, still looking out the window. "Even when I was younger, whenever I came up to the city, if the weather was warm enough, I'd take a quick spin on my bike along this very road. If you would have told me back then that one day I'd be taking this same road to go to a Church to make Mary my wife, I'd have said you were mad."

"And yet here we are, my darling boy," she said happily. "It's all come good."

"Would you have wanted it to go any differently?" he asked, looking at her. "Would you have wanted us to not be as close to Mary's family, for me to practise law, to make different choices?"

"The choices that all of us made have led us to where we are now," she said calmly. "It's gotten you the love of your life. I think that your father would call all the rest of it an acceptable amount of risk, given the reward."

Matthew smiled and turned back to the window as the Church came into view.

 **Chapter 43:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2016**

The photographer switched lenses and memory cards, then checked the viewfinder on her camera before going back into the bedroom. Keeping quiet, she began taking photos at random, moving about the room and firing away, using the sunlight coming in through the sheer curtains to give an ethereal quality to some of the pictures. Not that such effects were needed, really. This was easily the most lavish and expensive wedding she and her team had ever shot, which was saying something. From the designer wedding dress – Valentino, she was told – and the gorgeous shoes – Louboutins – both made-to-measure, to the team of stylists who had been preparing the bridal party from the early morning, the scene resembled the backstage of a West End production rather than a wedding. Now though, with the limousine waiting outside, the staff had all been dismissed, leaving only the bride, her mother, and the bridesmaids.

Pressing the shutter crisply and quickly, the photographer went over by the bed to get a side view of Lady Mary sitting at her vanity, as her mother and one of the bridesmaids stood behind her.

"I just can't touch it," Cora said, laughing and shaking her head as she looked at the open velvet box in Anna's hands. "It's absolutely perfect. I still can't believe that Matthew had it made for you."

"Now, now, Mama," Mary said, smiling at her mother's reflection in the mirror. "If you start to cry, you'll ruin your makeup."

Sybil, Edith and Rose all laughed as they stood by and watched.

"No, I'm all right, I'm all right," Cora said, sniffling slightly and pausing to compose herself. "It's just that…well…this is why for so long I kept telling you how much I thought you and Matthew were so well matched, darling. He's so thoughtful, and generous, and he knows you. He always has. Regardless of his role in the family business, or anything else, I've always known that he would treat you right, and he does, and that's what I've always wanted for you."

"You didn't just tell me, you practically pushed me on him, which was all the reason I needed to resist," Mary replied lightly. "But you're right. Matthew is very good to me. And he better keep on being so, if he knows what's good for him."

Cora laughed.

Swallowing nervously, Anna set the box down on the vanity and carefully removed the diamond tiara that Matthew had given Mary for her pre-wedding gift. Holding the delicate jewellery carefully, she slid it into Mary's hair, careful not to disturb the styled waves of her coiffure.

"How's that?" Anna asked, glancing at the mirror.

Cora covered her mouth, her eyes bright.

"It's perfect, Anna, thank you," Mary said, smiling at her reflection, then up at her best friend.

Anna nodded and stepped back for the others to come over to see the bride.

"You look absolutely gorgeous," Rose declared, hugging Mary lightly so as not to disturb either of their dresses. "I know today is going to be spectacular, the wedding that everyone would want, and you deserve it, Mary, truly."

"Thank you," Mary replied. "And thank you for coming back to be here for me. I know it means so much to Matthew as well, even if he would never admit it out loud."

Rose laughed and nodded, then stepped away and went over to stand next to Cora.

"I always knew he was in love with you, you know? From the very beginning," Sybil said smugly, kneeling down and taking her sister's hands.

"I doubt that. You were barely two years old when we first met," Mary said, grinning at her.

"Fine, but I do remember the looks he would give you as we grew older, how he would stew in anger whenever you didn't pay attention to him, and how happy he was whenever the two of you got along. He never admitted it to me, but I knew. And that's why today is so romantic. You're going to have such an incredible life together, darling," Sybil beamed.

"Thank you," Mary said softly, nodding her head. "And thank you for being ever so sweet."

Sybil rose to her feet and joined the others as Edith took her place.

"We both knew he was in love with you early on," Edith said, smiling at Mary. "I never thought this day would come, if I'm honest, but I'm so glad for you that it has. Matthew makes you happy, and you're nicer when you're with him, too. I can only hope there'll be a lasting effect now that you're marrying him."

"Thank you, Edith," Mary said drily, giving her a wry smile.

"If we could have a photo of everyone before you go down, Lady Mary?" the photographer asked.

"Of course," Mary said cheerfully, getting up from her chair.

Anna bent down and adjusted the train of Mary's dress, tucking it in behind her, then everyone gathered around the bride and smiled as the photographer captured the moment, the sun streaming in.

Sybil, Edith and Rose came downstairs first, going straight through the foyer and out to the Mercedes waiting outside. Cora followed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to give her daughter one last hug and wish her good luck before she too went outside to the waiting car. Anna held Mary's train as they came down the stairs, then smiled at her friend before she joined the others and the Mercedes left for the Church.

"Well, will I do, Carson?" Mary asked, smiling at the butler.

"Very well, indeed, my Lady," Carson replied, nodding to her. He turned and went out to the Bentley, standing at the ready at the rear door.

"You look so beautiful, and so happy," Robert said, grinning as he took his eldest daughter's hands in his. "And so you should be, on such an occasion."

"I am, Papa," she confirmed, smiling and nodding. "And what about you?"

Robert smiled and squeezed her hands before he released them. "You know, I wanted this for you, for the both of you. And yet, now that the day has finally arrived, I'm even happier than I expected to be. This does feel so very right, my darling girl. The two of you, you belong together."

She smiled and bowed her head slightly. "Well, we had best get to the Church or Matthew will give up on me."

"I doubt he ever could," he said, turning for the door and offering her his arm.

Mary placed her hand across her Papa's forearm and went outside into the bright sunshine. Carson opened the door of the Bentley and she ducked inside, carefully tucking her train in with her. Robert nodded to Carson and sat down next to his daughter. With everyone settled, Taylor drove them away from the kerb and towards Knightsbridge.

 **St. Paul's Church, Knightsbridge, London, England, August 2016**

Matthew felt all eyes upon him as he and Alex walked up the aisle towards the altar. He stopped every so often to accept the well wishes of some of his guests. There was a hug and kiss for his mother, and Cora, and Violet, a firm handshake with Aunt Rosamund, and Rose's parents and siblings, even a friendly nod to Tony and Mabel, and Larry and the woman he'd brought with him. Though these were mainly Mary's relations and friends, he didn't mind. Nothing and no one was going to ruin his mood today.

He took his place and looked up to the old wooden beams of the vaulted ceiling, the hanging chandeliers and the soaring arch of the high altar. He hadn't paid much attention to the place before now, having spent mere minutes here during the rehearsal days ago. The grand building dated back to the 19th century, and as he glanced back down the length of the nave to the doors, he felt suitably impressed. How many weddings had this place seen? Surely it had hosted couples with even more colourful stories than he and Mary? He smiled at the thought, not entirely decided whether it was actually true or not.

"I think we're stuck," Alex said quietly, smirking at him. "All the guests are here and security is posted at all the exits. Looks like there's no escape for you."

Matthew smiled at his best man. " _It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done,_ " he whispered playfully.

Alex shook his head ruefully. "You're such an insufferable smartass, you know that?"

"Watch your language," Matthew teased. "We're in the House of the Lord."

They both turned, and everyone rose to their feet, as the opening notes of _Pachelbel's Canon in D_ began to play. As the doors opened and light poured in, a tremor of delight and anticipation seemed to rise up through Matthew's chest.

This was really happening.

Rose came down the aisle first, then Sybil, Edith, and finally Anna, the maid-of-honour, their light blue dresses the same colour as Alex's tie and pocket square, each of them carrying small bouquets of white and pink peonies. They noticed family members and friends in the audience as they approached the altar, and they smiled genuinely and happily as they walked, even Edith.

Mary finally stepped on to the soft carpet of the aisle. Her veil obscured her view, but not by much. She held on to her Papa's arm as they slowly moved forward, rose petals already lining the way before her. Through the first few rows of pews, her eyes darted here and there, recognizing the guests and returning their joyful smiles. Eventually though, her eyes settled on blond hair, blue eyes and a smile of wonder waiting for her at the altar, and his handsome face guided her the rest of the way.

She actually knew nothing about his tuxedo until now. He had agreed to match Alex's colours with the bridesmaids, but hadn't said anything about his own outfit. As she neared him, she took in the long black coat, the silver vest and cream coloured tie and pocket square. His hair was styled more than she was used to, but she liked it. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, and as she came to his side, it was as though there was no one else around but for them.

He reached forward and lifted her veil, holding her gaze for a moment before they both turned to face the Reverend, who gave each of them an encouraging nod and addressed the assembly.

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you…"

* * *

"They did it," Cora whispered, grinning at Isobel as they waited outside the Church for the happy newlyweds to emerge.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Isobel replied, smiling and taking Cora's hand in hers. "I guess that means I owe you a lunch."

"How long ago did we make that bet? I think Mary was 19," Cora laughed, shaking her head. "Well, they found each other in the end, that's all that matters."

Isobel nodded and smiled as cheers went up from the gathered crowd. Mary and Matthew came outside, confetti flying all around them. They waved to everyone before sharing a quick kiss to the eager applause of their guests, including both of their mothers.

* * *

The limousine pulled away from the kerb, the guests still gathered outside the Church waving as it left. There were photos to be taken at various locales around the City, and the weather was cooperating so far. Alex and the rest of the bridal party had already gone ahead. With the privacy screen up so that Taylor could not see them, Matthew turned and gave his new wife a deep kiss.

"Well, Lady Mary," he said playfully, holding her hand in his. "Have I finally swept you off your feet?"

"No, not at all, Mr. Crawley," she teased, arching her eyebrow at him. "And I think you should be glad that you haven't."

"How so?" he asked in confusion.

She gave him a brilliant smile and squeezed his hand, leaning closer to her new husband.

"Well, darling, that would imply that you've bewitched me somehow," she explained. "That our marriage has come as a complete surprise, and has figuratively thrown me off balance."

"However?" he asked.

"However, the truth is that I've come into this with my eyes wide open," she said cheerfully. "And marrying you isn't a surprise at all. Rather, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I'm not looking for you to carry me off into the sunset. I'm eager to move forward hand-in-hand."

"Hmm, now that you explain it that way, I prefer your view," he said.

"I expected that you would," she stated, laughing before pulling him into another kiss.

 **Lancaster Ballroom, The Savoy Hotel, Covent Garden, London, England, August 2016**

"That was rather unfair of you, you know," Anna joked, smiling up at Alex as they danced together. "The garter is supposed to be for single men. You shouldn't have even been in the competition."

"I should say the same for you and Lady Mary's bouquet," Alex said, holding her close. "I was shocked to see you leaping for it. You almost elbowed Rose in the face."

"I did not," she groaned. "And it came right to me, so of course I was going to catch it. Anyway, it wasn't her actual bouquet. That one's going to Manchester."

"Right, right," he recalled, laughing and kissing her quickly. "So, have the day's festivities given you any ideas for our wedding?"

"I don't intend to stop traffic on London Bridge to take photos, if that's what you're asking," she replied. "Mary's entire day has been gorgeous, but it isn't for me. Our wedding is much smaller. The only thing that's probably comparable will be the food."

"And the open bar," he added.

"That too," she giggled. "Plus, I don't think an afternoon reception suits us. We'll have ours at night, rather."

"Well, today has made me think of one thing about our wedding, I must say," he said, looking at her intently.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's much too far away," he said smugly.

"Oh, very smooth," she said, nodding to him. "Looking to score with the maid-of-honour this afternoon, are you?"

"Desperately hoping to do so, yes," he said unashamedly. "We are in a hotel."

"God, behave yourself," she scolded him, though she couldn't stop from grinning. "Mary told me they're leaving in an hour. Hang on until then and I promise to make it worth your while when we get back to yours."

He laughed and kissed her lightly as they continued dancing.

* * *

"Granny!" Sybil exclaimed as Violet came over to sit with them. They had abandoned the head table right after the speeches so they could go table-to-table to do the toasts with the guests. Dancing had started up soon after, with each of them coming and going throughout the evening, such that now only Mary and her sisters were sitting down. The Dowager Countess took Alex's vacant seat as her granddaughters gathered around her.

"I'm going back to Rosamund's, I think," Violet declared. "I want to take a rest before our dinner tonight, and Isobel seems desperate to leave."

"Well, thank you so much for toughing it out, Granny," Mary said lightly. "It wouldn't be a proper reception without you."

"Of course, my dear," Violet said, giving Mary a hug. "Congratulations again. You were entirely regal today."

"Erm…Granny. You may not be permitted to leave, as of yet," Edith said.

"Why ever not?" Violet demanded, frowning at her.

"Your Ladyship," Alex said formally, bowing his head and extending his hand. "May I have the honour of this dance?"

Mary, Edith and Sybil exchanged knowing smiles.

"I…well, it is a slower song than some of that infernal noise that your generation seems to prefer," Violet said, taking Alex's hand and getting to her feet. "Just try and keep me upright. You can do that, can't you?"

"I'll try my best," he replied, guiding her around the table and out to the dance floor. "We do need to practice. My wedding is just over a month away."

"I am well aware," she replied as they came into hold and he led her through a loose waltz. "You're the one who needs to work on his steps. I've been dancing since well before you were born."

"Yes, my Lady," he replied easily.

"How is your fiancée? I trust you have been paying her proper attention today?" Violet asked.

"She is very well, thank you," he answered. "She's the one who alerted me to the fact you might be trying to escape, so I knew I had to catch you for our dance. You did promise me."

"Yes, yes, I did. Now do not make me regret that decision," Violet replied, allowing a small smile across her lips.

 **Blackley Cemetery, Manchester, England, August 2016**

Mary held on to Matthew's arm as they walked along the row of tombstones. When they left their luncheon reception, he suggested perhaps putting off the planned trip here, but she gently reprimanded him and assured him there was plenty of time. Thankfully the flight was fast and the drive even quicker, and here they were well before the dusk closing time.

He swallowed as they reached the grave of Dr. Reginald Crawley. Frowning for a moment, he stepped gingerly on to the grass, standing off to the side, as though he was being careful not to step where his father's coffin lay buried.

Stepping away from Matthew, she came forward and placed her wedding bouquet at the base of the black granite headstone. She stood up and held her hand out to her husband, nodding for him to come forward. Eventually he moved, taking her hand and pausing a moment before speaking.

"Hello, Papa," he said quietly. "I hope you enjoyed the ceremony. St. Paul's is one of the nicest Churches in London, actually."

She remained at Matthew's side as he spoke to his father, telling him about how happy he was, how happy they were, married now, just as the doctor had predicted years ago, apparently. She could hear the regret in his voice, the sadness, despite this being such a wonderful day for them, and she quietly understood. Though she had never been as close to her parents as Matthew was to his, she still had hers, and on a milestone day like her wedding day, it did make a difference, to enjoy it with her parents, and her sisters, with both her grandmothers and other relations. Matthew only had Isobel, and Alex. She recalled how out of the immense list of wedding guests, only a few tables were from Matthew's side, and his guests were more colleagues than friends.

"Goodbye, Papa," he said softly, taking a step back.

She stepped forward and kissed her fingers before pressing them to the black granite.

"Thank you, for supporting me," she whispered. "I'll take good care of him, I promise."

They stood there for another quiet minute before turning and walking away, the sun setting in the distance.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2016**

"What are the two of you doing? You left me alone in there!" Rose complained, coming into the small library.

"Anna was still with you. I'm just texting with Bertie," Edith replied, looking up from her phone. "Besides, I thought you'd be spending time with your parents."

"I have been, but I'm limiting my exposure. I dumped them off to Annabelle for now, but I'll have to go rescue her in a few minutes. And Anna just left with Alex. They said goodbye to both of you, since you were nowhere to be found. I just saw them out," Rose said.

"Good, so you're fine, then," Edith said, going back to her phone.

"Not particularly," Rose whinged, coming over and sitting down on the sofa next to Sybil. "Mummy says she has a very nice boy that she wants to introduce me to."

"Why didn't you use your usual excuse that you can't move back here?" Edith asked.

"I did, but she's not buying it as much as she used to," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "What are you doing, Sybil?"

"Nothing, just texting," Sybil replied.

"Texting who?" Rose asked suspiciously.

"Just a friend," Sybil said.

"And what's your friend's name?" Rose pressed.

"Tom," Sybil replied. "His name is Tom."

"Tom? I've never heard of any boy named Tom," Edith noted.

"He's…new," Sybil said carefully. "We just met recently. Nothing is going on. We're just chatting."

"Right," Rose said sarcastically. "I remember when Jack and I were just chatting too. Give me details, darling, or I might let his name slip to Cousin Cora."

Sybil frowned at her cousin, then shook her head as she glanced back down at her phone.

"If you must know, he's a journalist at the Guardian…" she began.

 **Crawley Group Gulfstream G550 Jet, Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, August 2016**

Mary touched up her lipstick and checked her hair in the mirror one last time. She felt nervous for some reason, which annoyed her. There was nothing to be nervous about. The flight had been smooth so far, and the dinner and drinks they'd had onboard were delicious. In the morning, they would touch down in San Francisco. She'd never been to California before, and was quite looking forward to spending the next weeks there, particularly given some of the visits that they'd planned.

She looked down at her wedding ring, the sight of it making her smile and relax a bit. It was white gold with eight diamonds inlaid into the band. It fit flush with her engagement ring and looked elegant and sophisticated. The day had truly been spectacular, from the ceremony in Knightsbridge to taking photos on London Bridge, back at the Shangri-La and around Hyde Park, to the luncheon reception with family and friends. Even small mistakes like running late on their schedule and someone being placed at the wrong table hadn't fazed her in the slightest.

Since leaving Manchester, she hadn't checked her phone once. She expected the busy day to catch up to her once they were in the air, but actually dinner had reenergized her, the idea of officially being on their honeymoon making her giddy with delight. Even though she'd spent practically every day and night with Matthew for over a year now, this felt different. They were taking their first trip as husband and wife, with no one and nothing to interrupt.

Checking her reflection one last time, she smiled and left the bathroom, coming out into the cabin.

He was already sitting on the large bed at the back of the jet, his tuxedo long removed, replaced by pyjama pants and nothing else. She expected he would be checking sports scores or something else, but he was just sitting there, waiting for her to come out, a satisfied smile across his face.

"Hello, wife," he said as she approached.

"Are you going to mention that word as often as you did with fiancée?" she asked, coming over to stand before him. "Because that would be very annoying."

He laughed and took her hands in his. "Maybe not quite as much, no," he allowed. "However, I would think you would grant me this indulgence. We've only been married for a few hours, now, to be fair."

"True," she said, smiling and nodding to him. "Fine, you may refer to me as 'wife' when speaking with others, however I draw the line at it becoming a new name for me."

"You don't want to be called wife?" he asked playfully.

"Not over my actual name, no," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Nor will I accept 'wifey', 'old lady', 'wag', or any other juvenile term."

He laughed and drew her closer to him, smiling up at her as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Then I shall continue to call you my darling," he said.

"A very wise choice," she said, grinning and leaning down to kiss him softly.

"I must say that this isn't exactly how I envisioned where I would spend my wedding night," she said wryly, running her fingers through his hair.

"The bed is quite comfortable, actually," he said. "As for the fact that we're flying across the Atlantic, well, think of our honeymoon as an adventure, and this is the beginning."

She smiled as his hands reached up and undid the sash of her robe. Keeping her eyes on his, she pulled it off her shoulders and dropped it down to the floor.

He smiled wide.

"Am I appropriately attired for this adventure of ours?" she asked lightly, running her fingers along the thin strap of her negligee, and down her cleavage.

"I love you so much, Mary," he whispered, grinning up at her.

"And I love you, husband," she smiled, easing down to sit in his lap. She took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, sliding her tongue past his lips. His hands came around and fondled her arse.

Though being together was nothing new for them, there was still a different air of excitement with this being their wedding night, their first time as a married couple. It was a moment that Matthew had often thought would never come, and one that Mary had not even thought of at all. And now, here they were. She pushed him on to his back and followed on top of him, kissing his neck and pressing against him provocatively. His hands moved up to her back, sliding the lingerie up her body as he went. She raised up and gave him a teasing smile, arching her eyebrow as she pulled the lacy piece of silk over her head and off. He smiled and pulled her back down, kissing her hard, eager to enjoy the rest of the evening.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2016**

"Erm, Miss Smith, ma'am?" Jimmy asked timidly, knocking on her office door.

"Jimmy," Anna said, looking up from her computer and smiling politely at the dealer. "What did you want to meet about?"

"Well, erm, you see…" he said nervously, stepping into her office. "I just noticed that we're a bit short staffed now that the expansion is up and running."

"Yeah, it's taking longer to bring the new staff up to speed," she admitted. "They're not bad, but they aren't quite at our standard just yet. Why? Are you feeling overworked?"

"No! No, not at all!" he said. "I'll take all the shifts that I can get, Miss Smith. It's just that I was thinking that if we're a bit thin, I know someone who could come in and do the job."

"So tell your friend to apply to HR," she replied. "There's no need for me to deal with it directly…"

She stopped and blinked in surprise.

He swallowed nervously.

"Jimmy," she said slowly. "You aren't suggesting that we take Thomas back, are you?"

He shuddered and bit his bottom lip.

"It's just that he's been down on his luck, is all," he explained. "He's been doing odd jobs and not really finding anything he likes, and well, he misses this place. I mean, he's still got a bunch of friends here."

"He stole from us, Jimmy," she said firmly. "Do you have any idea how serious that is? He's lucky all we did was sack him. If Lady Mary had her way, he would have been charged."

"I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. "But he's really sorry, you know. He wishes he'd never done it, honestly. He wouldn't even think to ask, but when he saw that Lady Mary was made President and that you're now running things here…"

"He thought he'd send you to play on my sympathies?" she asked incredulously.

"No, no, it isn't that he's looking for pity," he claimed. "It's just that you knew him, Miss Smith. You worked with him. You know how well he got on with everyone, how the regulars liked him. He's a good dealer, Miss Smith, and even can host. He says he'll start at the bottom, do whatever you want. He knows he'll be watched and checked on and everything, and he's all right with that. He just wants back in. He just wants another chance."

She sighed in exasperation and looked away for a moment.

"He gave me his application to pass on to you, if you were willing to consider it," he said finally, placing an envelope on her desk.

She looked at it for a second, then turned back to her computer monitors.

"Get back to work, Jimmy," she said brusquely.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, turning and leaving her office as fast as was politely possible.


	44. Chapter 44

**Previously:**

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2016**

"He stole from us, Jimmy," she said firmly. "Do you have any idea how serious that is? He's lucky all we did was sack him. If Lady Mary had her way, he would have been charged."

"I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. "But he's really sorry, you know. He wishes he'd never done it, honestly. He wouldn't even think to ask, but when he saw that Lady Mary was made President and that you're now running things here…"

"He thought he'd send you to play on my sympathies?" she asked incredulously.

"No, no, it isn't that he's looking for pity," he claimed. "It's just that you knew him, Miss Smith. You worked with him. You know how well he got on with everyone, how the regulars liked him. He's a good dealer, Miss Smith, and even can host. He says he'll start at the bottom, do whatever you want. He knows he'll be watched and checked on and everything, and he's all right with that. He just wants back in. He just wants another chance."

She sighed in exasperation and looked away for a moment.

"He gave me his application to pass on to you, if you were willing to consider it," he said finally, placing an envelope on her desk.

She looked at it for a second, then turned back to her computer monitors.

"Get back to work, Jimmy," she said brusquely.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, turning and leaving her office as fast as was politely possible.

 **Chapter 44:**

 **Private Villa, Kenwood, California, August 2016**

Mary turned her head to the side and took a quick breath, then looked ahead and exhaled slowly. She kicked her long legs as she stroked her arms through the water, moving to the end of the pool, then flipping over and pushing off the wall to do another lap. After another ten minutes, she pulled herself out on to the deck, water dripping off of her as she walked over to her lounge chair and grabbed her towel. She wrung her hair out first, the warm sun overhead already beginning to dry her skin.

"How's the water?" Matthew asked, looking up from his lounge chair and smiling at her.

"Refreshing," she said, drying her arms. "You should try it."

She gazed at him, laid back, wearing just a set of board shorts and sunglasses, his bare skin not nearly as pale as hers, but still comically white. Neither of them liked to tan, however she expected they would both gain quite a bit of colour during their stay. There wasn't a drop of rain forecast for the next three weeks.

"Maybe later," he replied easily. "I was thinking of trying out the hot tub after dinner, actually."

"Were you?" she asked, arching her eyebrow. "And let me guess – clothing will be optional?"

"You can wear whatever you wish," he said, raising up slightly to take a sip of Coke. "But don't expect to be getting back out wearing the same attire."

She laughed and put her towel down, walking leisurely around and sitting down on his chair, her hand reaching over and taking the bottle of suntan lotion from the side table.

"The only place you'll be going is indoors if you don't watch it," she warned, squeezing a liberal amount of cream on to her hand. "You're going to burn. Why didn't you put anything on?"

"I was waiting for you to do it," he said cheekily, putting his hands behind his head and smiling as she rubbed lotion over his chest. "I'd say my plan has worked brilliantly."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, moving down his stomach and deliberately touching the bulge in his shorts as she crossed down to his exposed legs.

"That's cruel," he grunted.

She smiled and covered his calves.

"Speaking of dinner, have you decided where we're going tonight?" he asked.

"There's a market nearby," she said, slapping him on the side lightly to have him turn over. "We can pick up what we need and have a barbecue."

"Dining al fresco?" he said, smiling as she worked the lotion into his back. "How very Californian of you, darling."

"It is gorgeous out here," she noted, leaning down and kissing his shoulder. "And I loved watching the sunset last night."

"It's been a while since I've had the time to appreciate one," he agreed. "All right, your turn."

He shifted on to his side and took the lotion bottle from her.

"I'm all right. I put some on before I came out here," she said, shifting over to her lounge chair.

"Well, you may have washed it all off while you were in the pool," he said. "Better to be safe, darling."

"Oh, fine," she said, turning over on to her front. "This had better not be a lame excuse for you to have a grope, though."

"Of course not," he scoffed, moving over and sitting down next to her. She laughed and shivered as he squeezed the lotion on to her back. "However, you wouldn't want any tan lines, would you?"

She smiled ruefully and rolled her eyes as he untied the top of her bikini.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, August 2016**

"You know, neither Lady Mary, nor Mr. Crawley would even let you back in here," Anna said, frowning at the man standing rigidly on the other side of her desk. "I'm inclined to have you escorted out, myself, and banned from ever coming back."

"Yes, Miss Smith, ma'am," Thomas mumbled. For such a petite woman, she seemed large and commanding sitting in her chair. Clearly being an executive was agreeing with her.

"What were you thinking, Thomas?" she asked, shaking her head. "We pay better than any other place in the City. You had friends here, had moved up over a short time. Was it really worth it risking all that to line your pockets?"

"No, not at all, Anna," Thomas said, swallowing shakily. "But I just needed the money, and with how much comes through this place, I…"

"You didn't think we'd ever notice," she interjected. "You thought we were too stupid to find you out."

"No! No, that's not it," he said, shaking his head.

"Isn't it? You didn't think you'd be caught, did you?" she asked.

"No, no I suppose not," he admitted. "But I had…debts…Anna. I made a stupid investment and lost everything. I had to borrow to get by, and it all just fell apart on me."

"And rather than asking for help, you decided to steal from us," she said, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

"I couldn't come to you with it," he mumbled. "I…"

"You were already stealing from us already, so you expected we would just sack you if you tried to ask for help," she finished.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, looking down at the floor.

"Why now, Thomas? Why come back?" she demanded. "You know we wouldn't welcome you with open arms."

He looked up at her, his expression rather sad and pathetic.

"I saw the announcements – first Lady Mary being promoted to President, then you being put in charge here, Mr. Crawley going off to that charity and the two of them getting married. I was hoping that you'd give me a chance, cause I know they won't. I'm not even saying I deserve one, but Jimmy said you could use some dealers, and even after all I've done, I'm good at my job, Anna, and I…well…I suppose I haven't found anyplace where I felt I fit in like I did here," he pleaded.

She leaned back in her chair, watching him with narrow eyes.

"There are a few clients who ask about you every so often," she admitted, still watching him suspiciously. "You'd be a good worker if you weren't so bloody full of yourself, you know that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding his head.

"If I decide to take you back…if…it'll be on a weekly basis. You'd be working overnights, and you'll take whatever assignments I decide – doesn't matter the game, doesn't matter the location. You aren't coming in here and getting anywhere near the High Limit Room or working any of the prime tables," she stated tersely.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, swallowing nervously.

"There'll be someone watching you at all times. If I hear that you so much as sneeze the wrong way, you're out on your arse, Thomas. Are we clear?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am," he said immediately.

"Go on home. We'll call you if we need you," she said, turning away from him and looking at her computer monitors.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Anna," he said, bowing and leaving her office.

She frowned and glanced up at the door, a constant debate running in her mind.

He walked briskly to the lift and got inside when the doors opened. Looking up at the digital numbers, he said a silent prayer as he went down to the ground floor.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 2016**

"He's been trying to find a hobby," Cora explained, smiling and shaking her head as they walked along the path. "First it was photography, then it was painting, then it was taking photos of his paintings. I think he's on to bird watching now."

"Does he really have that much more free time?" Isobel asked, smiling at the hilarious mental image of Robert spying at the trees with a pair of binoculars. "It wasn't as though he was involved in the daily operations of the company anyway."

"No, he wasn't, but I think part of him feels embarrassed to get together with his old chums now that he's retired," Cora said. "Before he could always brag about the company as though everything Mary and Matthew did was his idea. Everyone knows now that he doesn't have a role."

"Give him some time," Isobel said kindly. "Once he finds a new routine, he'll be back to himself."

"Oh, I know," Cora said, nodding in understanding. "I suspect that he's been re-evaluating everything – Downton, his investments, the staff, all of it, and wondering whether it still fits us or not. The people we met on the cruise all had vacation properties in various countries. No one owned anything like this place."

"Downton is rather unique," Isobel agreed, glancing over at the big house behind them. "The country life that Robert's predecessors lived has been extinct for decades. I can't even see Mary and Matthew ever living here, if I'm being honest."

"No, I don't think they would, either," Cora said, sighing wistfully. "Their London home is quite spectacular. Mary's plans for it are impressive."

"They are, indeed, which is hardly surprising," Isobel said, laughing knowingly. "Between their marriage, Matthew's new job and now a new house, they're taking on quite a bit all at once."

"Dare we hope for one more new addition from them soon?" Cora asked, looking at Isobel playfully.

"Quietly, yes, we can," Isobel said conspiratorially, smiling and squeezing her old friend's hand.

Cora laughed as they continued their walk.

 **Private Villa, Kenwood, California, August 2016**

Mary sighed as she reclined back against her seat in the hot tub, the bubbles frothing all around her. The water was delightfully hot, and the view of the sun setting over the mountains in the distance was breathtaking. She smiled and looked away, her eyes traveling to the sight of her husband standing just a few steps away, his back to her, busying himself with preparing their drinks.

Her husband.

She had taken off her rings before getting in the tub, her lesson learned from the near disaster of the other night when she forgot to do so. It was strange how her hand felt lighter and somehow empty without them. She was Matthew's wife now, and it felt completely natural and wonderful all at once. Here they were in a different country, vacationing just the two of them, and there was nowhere else she would rather be. It was startling how easily she had jumped into her new life with him.

They set aside a couple of hours each day to check in with their offices and get some work done. It wasn't realistic to disconnect entirely for the month that they would be away. Still, they spent most of this scheduled time checking emails and organizing their calendars, Anna, Alex, Sybil and Edith all assuring them that everything was under control and there was nothing that required their immediate attention.

There were also a few hours, usually in the mornings, devoted to personal time, where Matthew would go cycling through the picturesque countryside and she would come out on to the deck and have tea while she looked at renovation and decorating ideas for their London house. It was a nice way to ease into the day, and she found these quiet moments refreshing, allowing her to energize herself for the day trips they took to San Francisco, or the wineries and small towns around Napa Valley.

The hot water warmed her skin and soothed her muscles. She admired his arse and legs as she watched him, a slight blush colouring her cheeks as she noticed marks on his bare back, marks that she had caused.

They were on their honeymoon, after all, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about, but even still, she was a bit shocked at how insatiable they had been since boarding the jet in Manchester on their wedding night. The villa was designed for 12 adults, but they had made good use of the space thus far. They'd already had sex in all five bedrooms, each of the showers, the kitchen and the living room. It was actually taking them quite a long time to fall asleep at night, as they seemed to be incapable of stopping after just one round. They were acting like randy teenagers, completely shameless and reckless, and she was loving it. Perhaps it was because they were so secluded here and surrounded by nature, the idea of following their primal instincts more alluring, or perhaps they felt as though they'd finally made it through all the obstacles and could finally enjoy being together without any worries. No matter the cause, they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other.

"Cosmopolitan," Matthew announced, getting into the tub and handing her a Martini glass.

"Thank you," she said, clinking her glass with his beer bottle before taking a long sip. "Mmm, that's perfect, darling."

"God, the view is just spectacular here, isn't it?" he said, putting his arm around her shoulders as he settled in at her side.

"It is," she agreed, her leg sliding across his thigh as she leaned into him. "We've only been here a few days and yet it feels as though we know this place so well."

"We have been rather proactive about finding all the markets and shops around the area," he said, laughing and sipping his local craft beer. "Soon we'll be speaking like Americans."

"No way!" she said, arching her eyebrow at him as she used her best imitation Valley Girl accent. "That would be, like, so lame!"

"Don't do that," he said, giving her a wry smile. "I quite like your real accent."

"Fine," she said in her normal voice, laughing as she took another sip of her Martini. "How utterly boring of you."

"Boring?" he exclaimed, frowning at her. "Excuse me?"

She placed her Martini glass on the deck, and slid across to sit in his lap, placing her wet arms across his shoulders,

"Boring may not be entirely fair," she allowed, arching her eyebrow as she straddled his legs. "I meant reserved, careful, calculating. You don't do anything without figuring out all the possible outcomes and consequences first, and you always make the most informed decision and choices that you can."

"Such as falling in love and marrying you?" he retorted, smirking at her cheekily.

"Well, that was your plan when you came to London, wasn't it?" she asked.

"It was a hope, and a rather faint one, I might add," he said. "I could have easily given up when you gave me such a warm welcome."

"Ah, but you aren't one to concede so easily, are you?" she asked, leaning forward and kissing him softly. "I know how you work now, darling," kissing his cheek. "You always keep your eye on the prize, rather than worry about the steps required to achieve it."

He smiled as she kissed his neck and pressed her hips against his.

"Even still," he replied, putting his beer bottle down on the deck behind them. "The reserved and carefully calculated choice would have been to just leave and go back to Manchester after my task for Robert was over. Staying and continuing to fight for you was the far more risky decision."

"Yes, it was," she agreed, leaning back and looking at him warmly. "Not only getting involved with me, but pledging your future to mine ensures you'll always be under scrutiny, that the sins of my family will stain you now, should they ever come to light."

"That sounds rather melodramatic, but it's true, yes," he said, his hands sliding along her hips and dipping below her bikini bottoms to cup her arse. "Doesn't that make me spontaneous and exciting? I've ignored the much safer option and chosen to recklessly move forward in a life of crime, all to be with the woman I love."

"Now that sounds melodramatic," she said, laughing at him. "All right, I will agree that your decisions where I am concerned have been rather irrational in some ways, but you've gone about them in a deliberate and thoughtful manner."

She smiled as he pulled her in and kissed her soundly, opening her mouth to play with his tongue, her eyes fluttering closed as his hands massaged her bare ass and she felt his hard arousal beneath her.

"Are you having regrets, then?" he asked playfully, smiling at her. "Wondering if you've made the right choice to commit yourself to such a boring man for the rest of your life?"

"Quite the contrary," she said, opening her eyes and looking at him smugly. "I find that I'm eagerly looking forward to the future. And, I'm glad. Glad to see you happy being with me."

He quirked his eyebrow and drew her close again, kissing her neck and pushing his hips against hers.

"What about you?" he asked, his breath warm on her skin. "You happy?"

"Mmm," she drawled, smiling as she felt his hand beneath the water pull the tie of her bikini bottoms free. "I think that I'm about to be. Does that count?"

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, his hand coming out of the water. He pulled her hand away from his shoulder and moved it down between their bodies. "It does if you mean it."

She reached into his shorts and grasped him, smiling as he groaned in pleasure.

"You'd be the first to know," she said, finding his mouth for a heated kiss.

 **Quo Vadis Restaurant, Soho, London, England, September 2016**

"Hello, I'm Anna Smith, I'm looking for…" Anna said politely.

"Ah, Miss Smith, yes," the host said, smiling and nodding to her. "Right this way. Her Ladyship is already here."

Anna followed the host across the parquet floors and to a corner table where Violet awaited her. The Dowager Countess smiled and nodded as the host held out Anna's chair for her. She thanked him and sat down, accepting the leather bound menu from him.

"Lady Grantham," Anna greeted her, nodding respectfully.

"Anna, please, you can call me Violet," Violet said pleasantly.

"Oh, all right, Violet," Anna said nervously. "It's just that Alex calls you Lady Grantham, and…"

"He has a rather strange adherence to tradition, not that I mind," Violet said, chuckling to herself. "Anyway, you are soon to become family, and so there's no need to use titles between us."

"Thank you," Anna replied, sipping her water to calm herself.

"Now, I suppose you're wondering why I've invited you to eat. I felt it important for us to have a nice chat, just the two of us. Quite obviously, you're about to become Alex's wife and so I feel I ought to tell you a little bit about him," Violet said.

"He's already told me everything that I need to know," Anna said.

"Yes, but I expect he hasn't told you everything that you want to know," Violet replied. "To say nothing for everything that you are too afraid to ask him about."

Anna swallowed, keeping her eyes on the Dowager Countess' sharp gaze.

Violet smiled as the server approached. They placed their order, Anna just picking soup and salad, her stomach churning as she wondered what Violet was about to reveal.

"Now, do understand Anna, I want the two of you to have a very long and happy marriage. Everyone goes down the aisle with half the story hidden, and in Alex's case, he's far more likely to focus on the present and future, and forget about his past. Make no mistake, he loves you, and I want you to understand just how much. Truly, I've never seen him look at any woman the way he looks at you," Violet said.

Anna smiled and looked down at her plate before continuing to listen.

"Alex has had a…complicated upbringing. He must have told you that he was not very close to his late mother?" Violet asked.

"Yes, he did. He also told me that he never knew his father," Anna said.

"No, he didn't," Violet nodded. "His father abandoned Alex's mother before he was born. He never knew him. The man currently lives in Hong Kong, has a family of his own, and has never bothered to find out what happened to his own son."

Anna frowned.

"Now you're wondering how it is that I know all of this?" Violet asked.

Anna nodded.

"When Alex was in middle school, he was a troubled youth, to say it mildly. He got in a lot of fights, talked back to his teachers constantly, and his attendance was shoddy at best. He felt his time was better served playing sports and staying away from home. His mother was not in a good place, to be kind. She was involved in drugs, often worked very late and left him to fend for himself," Violet explained.

Anna blinked, hanging on her every word.

"Well, there is an organization in Manchester that works with individuals like Alex – troubled families, those in difficult circumstances, those youth who are one unfortunate incident away from being incarcerated. One of the school officials brought Alex to the attention of this organization. Not surprisingly, Alex wanted nothing to do with them. However, they did run a full series of tests on him during his interview. IQ, logic puzzles, deductive reasoning, reading comprehension, problem solving, creativity, and so forth. He practically tested off the charts. I've never told him this, but the counsellors had never seen anyone like him," Violet recalled. "They reported their findings to one of the doctors they worked with, Dr. Reginald Crawley."

The Dowager Countess chuckled at the memory.

"Mr. Crawley's father," Anna said.

"The same," Violet confirmed. "He called me, told me all about Alex, told me how he thought he could do great things if he would only have a bit of support and direction. I was intrigued. I've long supported different charities in Manchester, mainly because Isobel has harangued me to do so. But, Alex resisted all of our efforts to help him. We were disappointed, of course, but he was very young and we weren't willing to get in a fight with him, or his mother. We never expected to hear from him ever again after that."

"And what happened?" Anna asked.

They paused as their food was served. Anna paid very little attention to her soup, waiting for the Dowager Countess to continue Alex's story.

"He called me years later, out of the blue," Violet said. "He was sixteen. His mother had overdosed, again, they were about to be evicted from their apartment and he had nowhere to go. He was too old for foster care, didn't want to go live with his mother's so-called friends, and basically had nowhere to turn. He had my phone number from years prior. I'm quite surprised he kept it, actually."

"He asked you for help?" Anna asked.

"He did, though he had no idea the type that I intended to provide," Violet said. "I took him out of Manchester for a year. His mother was glad to be rid of him, the bitch."

Anna almost jumped at hearing the Dowager Countess' mild curse.

"He lived in Liverpool with employees of mine. He had tutors, trainers, instructors, and had to adhere to a very strict schedule. He wasn't thrilled about it at first, but eventually the routine and structure appealed to him. I think it's because he had a team of specialists all focused on him. He's always loved being the centre of attention," Violet said drily.

Anna smiled in agreement.

"My original plan was to catch him up to other kids his age and return him to Manchester to resume his life, however with his mother disowning him completely, he had nowhere to go. He also continued to defy all of our expectations. He did the course work to make up all of his lost school credits in remarkable time. There was actually nothing we could throw at him that he didn't handle exceptionally well. It led me to consider him for a rather special assignment," Violet said.

"A hitman," Anna said quietly.

"I prefer the term 'security officer'," Violet said. "It was never meant to be anything nefarious. I sent him back to Manchester to live with the security team assigned to Isobel and her family. I felt that he could be an asset. He was Matthew's age and could blend in more easily than other members of the detail. He was never supposed to encounter any incidents, but he was trained to handle himself in such situations nonetheless."

Anna nodded.

"Well, you may know a little of what happened to him from then on," Violet continued. "He did have more assignments than I would have liked, mainly out of emergency and necessity, but he handled all of it. It's been some time since I've asked him to do anything of that sort, and I don't expect I ever will again. His past is exactly that, and I don't tell you about it now to scare you. I want you to realize that, due to what he's been through, he is very suspicious by nature. His friendship with Matthew has been quite unexpected, really. I honestly never believed he would allow himself to love anyone, especially after his mother died without any reconciliation between them."

"But?" Anna asked carefully.

"But he loves you," Violet declared. "He's chosen to share his life with you, which is no small feat. I know that you love him. I know that you'll be good for him. I want you to understand him, so that when the inevitable difficulties come, you are hopefully better able to get though them together. You have had a challenging life yourself, Anna, and I admire you for surviving it. Just know that you are worthy of him, and do make sure he knows that he is worthy of you, because for all of his arrogance, there is a bit of that troubled child left in him, the one who found nothing but unkindness and darkness in the world, and to him, you are the very sun itself."

Anna blushed and put her spoon down.

Violet ate a forkful of salad as though nothing at all was amiss.

"That's why he's so close to you, why he looks up to you so much," Anna said finally. "You're the only real mother he's ever had."

"I'm far too old for that," Violet huffed, looking down at her salad. "I've told him, many times, that he puts me on far too high a pedestal. It's delusional, really. I'm nothing more than an employer."

"I have to disagree," Anna said, finally at ease with both the conversation and the company. "From what you've told me, it seems he's only ever had two women in his life who've cared about him. I just hope I can live up to the first."

Violet smiled and busied herself with her salad. "Just be good to him. That will be enough."

They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"Now," Anna said eventually. "This would be the perfect time to tell you more about the wedding."

Violet smiled and gave her all of her attention.

 **Hue Lounge and Nightclub, Telegraph Hill, San Francisco, California, USA, September 2016**

The ceiling was all coloured lights and metal beams, polished and clean, much like the rest of the club. The large room was rather posh, with plush furniture, a DJ on a raised stage, and scantily clad dancers on elevated platforms. Their hostess was somewhat surprised when the VIP corner table with bottle service turned out to be booked just for the two of them, but she smiled and escorted them over, quickly mixing a vodka and tonic and a Coke with no ice and lime as Mary and Matthew settled on to the couch.

"What do you think?" Matthew asked, leaning in to be heard amidst the loud throbbing music.

"It's very impressive," Mary replied, nodding her head as she took in the entire scene. The dance floor was crowded, the clientele about their age, maybe a bit younger. Some of their outfits made her sleeveless, backless red mini-dress seem staid by comparison, but they fit in well enough.

She smiled as she took her drink from the hostess and looked over at her husband. His navy collared shirt and black trousers fit him perfectly. When they came into the club, she caught a few women, and even some men, glancing over at him, probably wondering who the tall blond was. Matthew had drawn some appreciative stares during their trip, from the cleaning lady who came by their rented villa to the woman at the bakery in Kenwood. This was the first time they'd been out together at a nightclub though, where the looks were more unabashed, hungrier. She felt a small thrill as she clinked glasses with him. Others wanted him, but he was all hers.

"To new adventures," he said, smiling at her playfully.

"To new discoveries," she replied, raising her glass and taking a sip.

* * *

Mary knew better than most the gaping chasm that could exist between perception and reality. Because she was an Earl's daughter, the perception was that she must have had an easy life; whereas the reality was that her Papa deliberately made her work harder than anyone else for everything she achieved. Because she was rich, beautiful and confident, the perception was dating must have come easily to her; whereas the reality was she only ever had a handful of boyfriends before marrying Matthew. And, because she was outgoing and Matthew was generally quiet, the perception was she was the fun and wild one in their relationship and he was the innocent.

The reality was decidedly different.

They spent the first half hour in the club drinking and talking, making fun of people in the crowd or the ultra-serious looking dancers. Matthew alternated between Coke, orange juice and sparkling water, while she kept to Grey Goose and mixers. She would see men look over at her every so often, checking her out. Obviously she was here with Matthew, and her rings were prominently displayed on her finger. There were likely men here who didn't care about that. The perception was, based on the way she looked and the dress she wore, that she liked to party and even might be interested in something illicit. The perception was, based on the way Matthew looked, that he wasn't the dominant one in the relationship, wasn't the alpha, and so, if she did fool around on him, he would be powerless to stop it.

Once she finished her third drink, he decided to give the gawkers a dose of reality.

"Let's dance," he said smoothly, smiling at her as he took her hand and got up from the sofa. She smirked and followed him on to the dance floor, the two of them negotiating their way through the closely pressed bodies to find their own space. Once he reached a spot he deemed satisfactory, he turned around and drew her near, holding her one hand and bringing it up to rest against his chest, while his other moved along her hip and around to rest on her bare back just above the fabric at her waist. She kept her other hand free as they began to dance.

He maintained eye contact with her the entire time, the flashing laser lights above them making his blue eyes glow in the darkness. They quickly fell into rhythm with the music, their hips shifting in time, swaying back and forth, bodies close together. As they moved, she would catch other people stealing a peek over at them, and it made her smile, as did his fingers along her back, keeping her in hold.

No, not so powerless at all.

"I don't think I've ever seen you dance like this before," she said after several songs, leaning into him so she could reach his ear. "I never imagined you'd want to."

"You make me want to," he said, and she felt his words more profoundly than the bass from the music. "I've wanted to dance with you for a while."

"Have you?" she asked sultrily, pressing herself against him. "Like this?"

She moved her hips deliberately against him, watching a smug smile spread across his face.

"Or like this?" she asked.

Turning around, she took his hands in hers and brought them to her waist. Holding them there, she pushed back against him, grinding her hips with his and turning her head to look up at him.

"Both," he said, turning his head and kissing her as they kept dancing.

* * *

She finished drying her hands and looked in the mirror, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear. Dancing with Matthew and being in such a crowded club had made her quite warm, her already tight dress clinging to her body. Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she moved past the other women filling the bathroom and made her way back out to the club.

"Hey, babe, what are you drinking?" a voice called as she crossed in front of the bar.

An arm came out and slid across her stomach to stop her from walking. She turned and glared at a tall man with brown hair, wearing a tight black shirt obviously designed to show off his muscles.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said shortly.

"Come on, honey, just have one drink with me. It's my birthday!" the man shouted.

She looked past him and saw a gang of men gathered at the bar, watching him with amused looks.

"We've been checking you out all night, waiting for you to ditch your boy," the man shouted. "Come on and have a drink with us. Just one."

"No, I need to get back to my husband," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Happy birthday, whoever you are."

"Fuck him," the man scoffed. "He won't do anything. Come have some fun with us for a bit, then you can go back to him, if you even want to."

"No," she said coldly.

"All right, fine, then how about a birthday kiss?" he asked, puckering his lips and leaning towards her.

Mary shoved his face away firmly and spun away from his grip. She heard him swear and his mates laugh heartily as she rolled her eyes and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

"You look kind of lonely over here."

Matthew looked up as three women came over and sat down on the sofa next to him.

"I'm waiting for my wife to come back," he said.

"That might take her a while," a second woman said, putting her hand on his knee. "It's pretty crowded in here."

"Mmm, I love your accent! If I was your wife, I wouldn't leave you alone, ever," the third said, coming to his other side and giggling.

"She just had to go and freshen up," he said. "She should be back any second."

"Well, we're all friends here," the first woman said.

"Yeah, we can all party together," the second said, sliding her hand up his thigh.

"Not interested," he said curtly, taking the woman's hand and removing it from his leg.

"Oh, come on," the third woman pleaded. "She won't mind if you have a dance or two."

"Actually, she would, and so would I," he said firmly. "Go."

"Fucking prick. Your loss," the first woman spat, shaking her head. The three of them got up and left.

Matthew sighed and took another sip of Coke.

* * *

"Want to get out of here?" she asked, kissing him lightly as they danced. Her arms were across his shoulders, his hands on her hips.

"It's only 2 a.m.," he joked. "Where to next?"

"Surprise me," she said, smiling at him.

He kissed her, then took her hand and led her off the dance floor and out of the busy nightclub.

 **El Tonayense Taco Truck, Union Square, San Francisco, California, USA, September 2016**

"A park bench?" she asked suspiciously, arching her eyebrow and looking at him strangely. "Really?"

"Why not?" he replied, sitting down and holding his hand out to her. "Come and kiss me."

She frowned for a moment, glancing up at the dark sky above them. It was slightly cool out, given the late hour, though not uncomfortably so.

"What if it rains?" she asked him, not moving from her spot.

"Then we'll get wet," he replied casually.

She arched her eyebrow at him.

"The car is just over there, darling," he said, sweeping his arm towards the kerb where his completely dry, rented blue Ferrari was parked.

She glanced at the car, then back at him, still not moving.

He held up his left hand and looked at her innocently. "I swear I shall carry you to the car with utmost haste, my Lady, should even one drop of rain dare land on your delicate skin."

She tilted her head and looked at him knowingly.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, lowering his left hand and raising his right instead. "Forgot."

She shook her head, then shrugged her shoulders and went to him, sitting down and pecking him on the lips before resting her head on his shoulder and snuggling against him.

The lights of the department stores and hotels bordering the public square surrounded them on all sides, the towering column of the Dewey Monument stood in the centre. It was eerily quiet, considering they were in the centre of the city. She was still buzzed and warm from the drinks and the dancing, and while sitting on a park bench was hardly what she had envisioned they would be doing following their time at the nightclub, she found the moment of rest quite welcome.

"Mmm, not bad," she admitted. "Though I am feeling a bit hungry."

"You are?" he asked easily. "Well, I don't know what we can do about that so late in the evening."

She turned her head and looked at him curiously.

"What?" he asked, smiling at her.

"I know that tone of voice," she said. "You're up to something. You didn't bring me here at random, did you?"

"No, I thought we could take a bit of a rest somewhere, and this was the first place that came to mind since you were raving about it this afternoon while you dragged me around shopping," he said.

"Excuse me? I did not 'drag' you around, thank you," she said haughtily, settling back against his shoulder once more.

"It isn't as though going to Macy's, and Saks, and Tiffany, and Hermes, and Chanel, were my idea of fun, you know," he said pointedly.

"And what about when we went to La Perla?" she retorted.

"Well, I suppose that wasn't so bad as the others," he admitted, smirking at the memory.

"I should think not," she said, casting him a sly glance. "You almost bought out the entire store the way you were carrying on."

"I just want to make sure you have sufficient clothing for the rest of our stay, is all," he protested.

"You practically bought me enough thongs to last a month," she said wryly.

"Better safe than sorry," he said. "Oof," he grunted as she elbowed him in the ribs.

"Mr. Crawley, sir," a voice called.

Mary turned her head and blinked in surprise as a woman wearing a sweater, jeans and a long white apron approached them, carrying a tray full of plates.

"Ah, perfect timing," Matthew said, nodding his head.

The woman handed him the tray, which he placed on the bench next to them. She bowed and left them. Mary watched her go, noticing for the first time a food truck parked on the street behind Matthew's car.

"A food truck just happened to show up here at two in the morning, did it?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Rather fortunate for us, wouldn't you say?" he replied.

Keeping his arm around her, he picked up the tray and laid it across his lap. She grinned and wafted in the delicious smells from the numerous dishes.

"Tacos al pastor, chicken quesadilla and beef torta," he announced, pointing out the different items. "And churros with chocolate sauce if you feel like dessert."

"Not bad, Mr. Crawley," she teased, reaching down and picking up a taco. She took a bite and savoured the sweet and savoury taste, exactly what she needed.

"Well, I couldn't allow my wife to starve, now could I?" he joked, taking a sip of his Mexican Coke.

 **Highway 101, Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, California, USA, September 2016**

Mary looked out the window at the tall towers of the Golden Gate Bridge, then across at the dark waters of the Bay. The Ferrari hummed along, the road almost empty as they crossed over to the north end, the villa another hour away.

She curled up in the leather seat, turning her head to the side and taking a deep breath. The day had been perfect, yet another in a series of them. This morning she had finally settled on the colour combinations for the upstairs bathroom of their London home, and to his credit, Matthew had shown an appropriate level of token enthusiasm when she told him after he returned from cycling. The drive into the city had been under sunny, blue skies, and though she would never admit it to him, she did go rather mad with shopping in the afternoon. Dinner was at a lovely Japanese restaurant, and she had changed into her newly purchased dress at Saks before they had pre-drinks at a hotel bar with brilliant views of the entire city. Being with Matthew at the nightclub had been exciting and addictive, so much so that she was still high from it now almost two hours later.

"Mmm, sometimes I wish we had done this far sooner," she said, sighing happily. "Who knows what adventures we could have had if we'd gotten together years ago?"

He chuckled and caressed her stockinged thigh with his free right hand.

After several seconds of silence, she glanced over at him questioningly, arching her eyebrow.

"This is the part where you're supposed to say 'me too, my darling. Me too,'" she said.

He chuckled again, not taking his eyes off the road ahead of them.

"My darling, I'm glad the way things worked out, when they worked out. Knowing what I do now, I'm grateful it took us this long, actually," he admitted.

"What?" she exclaimed. "You who have wanted me for over a decade? You who dreamed of our life together back when you were in university? You're grateful that it took us until we were almost thirty to marry?"

"Yes, exactly," he said simply.

"Explain yourself," she said cautiously. "And this is going to take some doing to sound at all romantic."

"Really?" he retorted, finally looking at her briefly. His smile and confidence made her warm with arousal. He squeezed her thigh as he looked back at the road.

"How about this then – if we had somehow started dating earlier, we both would have been far less mature than we are now. Who's to say we wouldn't have grown bored of each other soon enough, or fought so much that we forgot why we even bothered to be together in the first place? If we had somehow dated earlier, and Patrick was still alive, I would not have been summoned to London, and so we might have had to carry on long distance for a time, which puts a strain on any relationship. If we had somehow dated earlier, and we were still just getting started in our respective careers, maybe we would have found it very difficult to find time for each other, to the point we would each resent each other for choosing work and ambition over love. There are all manner of obstacles we might have had to face had we started dating earlier."

She blinked and considered his words. Her natural instinct was to object to all that he said, but how many of the few relationships that she had before him had ended for precisely one or more of the reasons that he had just listed? She turned away as they passed through a lit tunnel, the bay still stretching out to their right as they headed north.

"Plus, years ago I was a nervous, bumbling wreck around you," he continued, drawing her attention back to him. "I would never have built up enough confidence to even ask you out, let alone try anything more bold."

Her eyes widened as she felt his hand move up her thigh and dip under the short hem of her tight dress.

"Matthew," she mumbled, her pulse jumping as she felt his fingers ghost deftly past the waistband of her panties. Surely he wouldn't…

"Oh!" she groaned, still watching him as his fingers found her slick, wet and warm. He kept looking forward, his left hand comfortably on the steering wheel. She realized belatedly that as they were now in America, driving a car that had the positions reversed from what they were used to in England, he was steering with his left hand, which freed up his dominant right hand to…

"Mmm!" she moaned, her legs parting slightly as he curled his wrist and pushed another finger inside of her. She fleetingly thought of how reckless and dangerous this was, though her mind immediately argued back that the road was deserted and that the car wasn't really going that fast, so he didn't actually need two hands on the wheel.

She grabbed the sides of the seat for purchase, sliding her hips forward slightly to give him easier access. She kept watching his face as his fingers increased their pace, his palm pressing down on her with each stroke. His eyes stayed focused on the road, a devilish smirk on his lips as he heard every beautiful sound drawn from her lips. Her mouth fell open and she moaned loudly over and over as delicious heat built up inside of her. She still couldn't believe they were doing this, that he had initiated it, that she had allowed it, even encouraged it now. It was scandalous, and dirty, and foolish, and entirely not something a proper Lady would ever have done.

And it felt incredible.

She wasn't watching the road, couldn't see that it had straightened out, with no other cars around them. All she knew was what he was doing to her, and how close she was to falling apart. He must have known it too, the way she was squeezing around his fingers, her desperate cries urging him on.

He finally turned to look at her, his cocky smirk turning into a triumphant grin. His blue eyes locked on hers, his white teeth bared in victory, his voice like liquid as he commanded her to go over.

She reached down and grabbed his hand, pushing him deeper as she cried out and her release crashed over her.

He went back to watching the road as she rode out the waves of her pleasure, her body shaking, her thighs closed around his hand. Truthfully, he wouldn't have had the gall to even try such a wicked thing months ago, let alone years ago, but being in a different country, in their own world, away from everyone and everything they knew had made them both more bold. His heart was still racing as she finally calmed and caught her breath. He removed his hand as she rearranged her clothing, delighting in her weak gasp as he brought his fingers to his lips and tasted her, then put his hand back on her thigh as though nothing had ever happened.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 2016**

"Holy shit, another email from Papa?" Sybil cried out incredulously as she shook her head and opened the message. "This one's on the state of the economy and why we should be putting away a little bit more 'for a rainy day'. Fucking hell."

Edith smiled and marked the message as 'read' before throwing it in the folder she had created. Since retiring, Papa had begun sending them regular emails every few days. First, they were photographs he had taken around the grounds of Downton Abbey, then photographs of paintings he had done. Next came motivational quotes he had apparently found online, followed by cute animal photos he'd come across, and now he'd apparently moved on to giving advice on finance, career and life balance.

"Don't complain, this is the most Papa's spoken to us in our entire lives," she joked.

"He told me he wanted to read my dissertation the other day," Sybil grumbled. "I know he is lacking for things to do, but this is ridiculous."

"It's harmless," Edith said. "Look at it this way, the more strangely he behaves, the better chance you have of him not disowning you when you bring a journalist home to meet him."

"I'm not bringing anyone home to meet him!" Sybil said firmly, glaring at her sister. "Tom and I are just…friends."

"You've seen him every day this week," Edith pointed out. "You spend more time texting with him than I do with Bertie."

"Well, that's because Bertie is a man of few words," Sybil said. "And judging by how little you've been home this week, I doubt he's needed to text you."

Edith blushed. "Don't be crass. I only stayed over at his twice this week."

Sybil laughed. "So when are Papa and Mama going to get to meet Lord Hexham properly?"

"I mentioned him to Mama already," Edith said, swallowing nervously. "We'll see about Papa. Maybe soon, if everything continues smoothly."

"Well, hurry up," Sybil said, going back to her game on her tablet. "With Mary and Matthew happily married, they'll turn to us next, and I'd rather it be you holding their attention than me."

Edith laughed and shook her head.

 **Home of Anna Smith, Chelsea, London, England, September 2016**

"I know he stole from us, but I just think that with the proper supervision and direction, he would be a productive employee," Anna said.

"Possibly, yes," Alex said, massaging her shoulders. The movie had ended long ago and they were seated on the couch, she between his legs with her back to him. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun and he was working his fingers into her knotted muscles as he listed to her whinge about the latest issue at Crockfords.

"When he was in his right mind, before, he was quite popular. Some clients would only play at his table, and it wasn't as if he was paying out a lot. They just enjoyed his conversation," she continued.

"No question he knows what he's doing when it comes to dealing," he replied.

"I just know Mary is going to be wondering what the hell I'm thinking if I end up bringing him back, and I don't know if I have a good answer for her," she said, shaking her head.

"Besides the fact that you think he's genuinely contrite and that his productivity is worth the risk," he offered.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, sighing in exasperation. "It isn't as though we really need him. We could just wait for the new crop to get better."

"You could, yes," he agreed.

"It isn't as though he's a bad person, really. He was just in a bad spot, and now that he's out of it, maybe he'll be on the straight and narrow from now on," she said.

"Maybe he will. Maybe working with all those fit lads on the casino floor will encourage him to do everything he can to keep his job," he suggested.

"Don't be rude," she said, turning her head and frowning at him.

"Love, if you want to bring him back, then just bring him back," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he continued his massage. "He'll be watched. We caught him once, we can catch him again. And, if he's wised up and learned his lesson, then you've got a productive employee. It's really not that big of a risk."

"And what if he does try something again? Mary will kill me," she grumbled.

"No she won't, because we'll catch him before he can do any real damage, just like the first time," he said confidently.

"What happened the first time?" she asked. "How did you and Mr. Crawley find out that he and the others were stealing?"

"I and some others came to the casino for a few weeks, observed the staff and kept track of any strange behaviour," he explained. "It wasn't hard."

"You?" she questioned. "You were part of the investigation team?"

"I was, yes," he said, leaning forward and kissing her shoulder.

"But that means you would have been at Crockfords for weeks before we actually met," she said.

"That's right," he said, smiling. "I was."

"You were watching me for weeks before Mr. Crawley introduced you to us," she said accusingly.

"Your daily coffee break was a highlight of my mornings," he teased.

"Unbelievable," she said, smiling back at him. "I fell in love with my stalker. This could be the plot from a terribly trashy novel."

"I wasn't stalking you!" he objected, frowning at her. "I was carrying out a very important assignment and I saw you and you took my breath away. I'd say that's the stuff of a great romance."

"I suppose your version does sound much better," she laughed, leaning back and kissing him. "Though I have no idea how I could have made such an impression upon you."

"Shall I show you?" he leered, kissing her again.

"Maybe," she teased, getting up to her feet and taking his hand. "First you have to help me with another important assignment."

"What's that?" he asked, getting up and following her down the hall.

"I went shopping today. You need to help me pick out which garter to wear for the wedding," she said, smiling as she led him to the bedroom.

 **Private Villa, Kenwood, California, USA, September 2016**

"The porter service will be here later tonight to collect our luggage. That means we'll have less to deal with tomorrow," Matthew announced, putting his phone down and coming over to join Mary on the sofa.

"Must we? It's our last night here," she said, sipping her tea. "I haven't even begun to pack yet."

"Would you rather we wait until the last minute before we leave tomorrow? We'll be rushed," he pointed out.

"No, I suppose that tonight is fine," she muttered.

"What is it?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"I don't know. Now that we've lived here for a month, I guess I'm rather reluctant to leave," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"It has been wonderful here, and we've made the most of our time, to be sure, but it's not home, darling," he said.

"I know," she agreed. "I do miss London. I miss Sybil, and Anna, even Edith. I miss work, though not as much."

He laughed in understanding.

"But it's just been so much fun being here," she continued. "Not having duties to perform or any responsibilities. I like how it's just been the two of us exploring the area and doing whatever we wish. I haven't felt this…free…in quite some time, and I am reluctant to let go of it, it seems."

"It has been nice, yes," he agreed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "And hopefully the memories will help us get through the annoying days that are sure to come, until our next trip. That's what normal people do, you know? They take vacation to recharge, then go back to work until they can find time to take off again. We're no different."

"Except our vacation budget is slightly more flexible than most," she said, smiling at him.

"Except for that, yes, though I would argue that some have much better schedules than we do," he countered.

She put her tea cup and saucer on the side table and snuggled against him. "I suppose there are some good reasons to go home. We have a new home to move into."

"If you ever finish with your renovations and decorating," he joked.

"Keep joking," she said dismissively. "It'll be a palace by the time I'm through with it."

"I'm looking forward to it immensely," he said, kissing her softly.


	45. Chapter 45

**Previously:**

 **Private Villa, Kenwood, California, USA, September 2016**

"I know," she agreed. "I do miss London. I miss Sybil, and Anna, even Edith. I miss work, though not as much."

He laughed in understanding.

"But it's just been so much fun being here," she continued. "Not having duties to perform or any responsibilities. I like how it's just been the two of us exploring the area and doing whatever we wish. I haven't felt this…free…in quite some time, and I am reluctant to let go of it, it seems."

"It has been nice, yes," he agreed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "And hopefully the memories will help us get through the annoying days that are sure to come, until our next trip. That's what normal people do, you know? They take vacation to recharge, then go back to work until they can find time to take off again. We're no different."

"Except our vacation budget is slightly more flexible than most," she said, smiling at him.

"Except for that, yes, though I would argue that some have much better schedules than we do," he countered.

She put her tea cup and saucer on the side table and snuggled against him. "I suppose there are some good reasons to go home. We have new home to move into."

"If you ever finish with your renovations and decorating," he joked.

"Keep joking," she said dismissively. "It'll be a palace by the time I'm through with it."

"I'm looking forward to it immensely," he said, kissing her softly.

 **Chapter 45:**

 **116 Pall Mall – Home of the Institute of Directors, St. James, London, England, November 2016**

The large ballroom was decorated by paintings. The ceilings had intricate wainscoting and gorgeous crystal chandeliers, but the paintings were the main draw. Large, majestic portraits in gilded frames were everywhere – between the large windows overlooking the manicured garden, bordering the tall mirrors at either end of the room, and framing the dark oak doors. They were all paintings of members of the British monarchy dating back to Charles I. King George III. The Prince of Wales. Queen Elizabeth II. They all stood stoically, towering over a room full of round tables covered in white linens and elaborate floral centrepieces. With the sun having long set and evening descended over the city, the paintings, just like the rest of the guests, were now watching the two couples on the dance floor.

"You look absolutely stunning tonight, Anna," Matthew said, smiling down at her as they danced. "It appears that married life agrees with you."

"Thank you," Anna said, grinning as she turned about the dance floor with her new husband's best man. "And thank you for everything that you and Mary did for us. It wasn't necessary, you know."

"On the contrary," he said. "It was absolutely necessary. My wife's best friend deserves the very best on her special day. I was terrified that Alex was going to want grilled cheese sandwiches or some other nonsense for dinner."

Anna laughed and shook her head.

"I wouldn't have allowed that," she said. "This hall is so beautiful. I never imagined I would be married in a place like this."

She couldn't stop smiling, remembering how the wedding ceremony took place on the grand sweeping staircase in the atrium, their guests standing in the galleries all around them. Coming into the reception on the arm of her new husband, all eyes upon her, had Anna feeling a bit like Mary, getting to be the belle of the ball for once.

"I think that Violet had something to do with arranging that," he said. "Anyway, do enjoy yourself, Anna. This is your day, and we're all so happy for you. I'm happy for Alex too, but not as much."

"Thank you," she said, smiling as she glanced over at her husband, who was dancing with her maid-of-honour.

"Even though you're practically family, Alex, make no mistake, if you hurt Anna in any way, I will kill you," Mary said haughtily, arching her eyebrow at the groom.

"And I would deserve it," Alex replied, keeping a respectful distance as they did an informal waltz. "I do love her, Lady Mary, more than anything."

"I know you do," she allowed, smiling at him kindly. "Just remember that, always, and take good care of her. She deserves to be happy, probably more than anyone else I know."

"We definitely agree on that," he replied.

Mary looked around the ballroom. It was such a contrast from the High Society Event of the Year that was her own wedding, with barely 100 guests and a far more casual and intimate mood, even here in this lavish venue. Whereas she had four bridesmaids, Anna only had her, and Mary was determined to make sure everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

"Now, after we're done, we should start going around and doing the toasts at each table, starting with Anna's Mum. I think she would appreciate that, since there's so few family members here," Mary instructed him.

"Yes, my Lady," he replied obediently, not so much leading their dance as keeping them moving.

"I've told the caterers to bring out the savoury table and desserts in about fifteen minutes or so, and the photographers will want some evening shots of the both of you out in the garden. When we're done the toasts, you and Matthew can mingle with your guests while I help Anna change," she continued.

"Yes, my Lady," he answered. "She has another dress?"

"Of course she does, Alex. Did you expect her to remain in her wedding gown all evening?" she asked lightly.

"Erm…I…well, I didn't pay much thought to that, I suppose. I know you had several outfit changes during your wedding, but I just assumed that Anna…" he stammered.

"She has another dress," she interrupted him. "And believe me, you will enjoy it."

"Yes, my Lady," he said crisply. "I'm sure that I will."

"Good," she said. "Now do smile. It's your wedding reception and you should be seen to be enjoying yourself."

"Yes, my Lady," he said dutifully, putting on a smile as they continued to turn.

* * *

"Thank you for coming, have a wonderful night," Alex said to an older couple that he barely knew. He shook the man's hand and kissed the woman's cheek, nodding to them as he watched them leave.

"Jules Ross and his wife, Amelia," Matthew whispered as Alex looked at him in bewilderment. "They're long standing clients at Crockfords. They always ask for Anna whenever they come in to play. I think they see her as a bit of a surrogate daughter in a way"

"Right," Alex said. "Well, I hope they had a good time."

"I'm sure they did, and I'm sure their wedding gift was quite generous," Matthew said. "Buck up a bit. In about two hours, this will all be over and you'll be able to take your wife home."

"Two hours and eight minutes," Alex replied. "Lady Mary had me set alarms on my phone for each stage of the evening."

Matthew laughed and nodded his head in sympathy. "She just wants to give Anna the wedding she deserves."

"I know, I know, it's very generous of her, of both of you," Alex admitted.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure she doesn't board the plane with you. You won't see her, or me, anywhere in Italy, I promise," Matthew said.

"Thanks for that," Alex replied wryly. "Look, I want everything to be perfect for Anna too, it's just that I thought this would all be so much…simpler. The photographers, and the savoury table, the candy buffet, the waffle station, it's all just so…"

"What did you expect, exactly?" Matthew teased. "A simple three-course meal, a couple of dances, the bouquet toss and to be on your way?"

"Well…yes," Alex admitted. "We were supposed to have a simple wedding."

"Compared to ours, yours is a simple wedding," Matthew noted.

"Compared to yours, Wills and Kate had a simple wedding," Alex said sarcastically.

"Well, we did show some restraint. For one, Mary thought that Westminster wasn't to her taste," Matthew joked.

Alex laughed ruefully.

"Alex! Matthew!" Sybil called, coming over with Edith. "Come on! The groom looks like he could use a shot or three."

"Definitely," Alex agreed readily, quickly walking with Edith to the bar.

Matthew laughed and put his arm around Sybil, catching up to Alex and Edith and ordering the first round of drinks.

* * *

"There, that should do it," Mary said, straightening the high collar of Anna's dress and smoothing the shoulders and back with her hand.

Anna took a deep breath and turned her body side-to-side, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"You look gorgeous, Anna," Mary assured her, smiling and nodding encouragingly.

"Do you really think so?" Anna asked, biting her bottom lip nervously. "It's so much different than the last one I wore."

"It's lovely," Mary said. "He'll adore it."

"All right, all right," Anna said, turning around and giving Mary a brave smile. "Let's go before he gets sick of waiting for me."

"One last thing," Mary said, holding up her hands. "There's something that I've been meaning to give you. Matthew would kill me if he knew I'd revealed this to you, but I think as Alex's wife, you ought to know."

Anna watched as Mary retrieved a small bag from the side table and handed it to her. She looked at it curiously, then opened it to examine the contents.

"He…would like this?" she asked, looking at Mary in confusion.

"According to Matthew, yes," Mary said, nodding her head. "He was apparently afraid to mention it to you for fear you might find it rather…odd."

"I don't find it odd at all," Anna said, shaking her head. "He should have said something before. I would have done it."

"I know, that's why I'm telling you now, even though Matthew swore me to secrecy," Mary said, smiling mischievously. "It should liven up your wedding night, and your honeymoon."

"It most certainly will," Anna said, chuckling before tucking the bag away out of sight with the rest of her things.

"All right, let's get you back down to your adoring public, Mrs. Lewis," Mary declared, reaching out her hand.

Anna laughed and took her best friend's hand as they left the dressing room and went back downstairs to the reception.

* * *

"I do wish you had brought Lord Hexham," Alex said, nodding to Edith. "I haven't seen him since the grand opening, but he seemed nice."

"He is nice," Edith agreed. "I think a wedding is probably a bit too important an occasion to unveil him officially, though."

"You're waiting for a family dinner?" Alex joked. "That will be much easier."

"Good point," Edith said, laughing ruefully. "He'll be at our party in December, and we'll go from there. Part of me thinks that Mama and Papa will be elated that I've found a man willing to have me, so I'm not overly concerned, but one never knows until the proverbial stamp of approval is given."

"Well, I know that your Granny already thinks quite highly of him," Alex offered.

"Yes, Granny has been very supportive, which is nice of her," Edith said. "I don't know why I'm so concerned about it. It's 2016. Who I choose to be with is my business. Besides, it isn't as though we've discussed marriage. We're just enjoying being together."

"I think you'd still prefer if everyone got along," Alex said kindly. "It makes things far easier. What about Lord Hexham's family? Have you met them yet?"

"No, though he has told them about me," Edith said. "His family estate is called Brancaster, it's in Northumberland, near Newcastle. I expect after I formally introduce him to my family, we'll go up to see his at some point. I don't know why I'm not concerned about meeting his parents. Normally I'd be terrified of such a thing."

"I'm sure they'll adore you," Alex said confidently.

"If they like me half as much as Anna's Mum loves you, then I'm doing something right," Edith teased.

"If Anna loved me half as much as her Mum does, I'd be set," he shot back. "No, that's not true. Anna probably loves me about three quarters as much as her Mum."

Edith laughed and took another sip of her gin and tonic. She glanced to her right at Matthew and Sybil huddled together, as they usually were.

"I can't believe Rose told you!" Sybil groaned. "That fucking bitch!"

"Funny, she said that was going to be your exact reaction, verbatim," Matthew said, chuckling at her. "Now, when am I going to get to meet young Mr. Branson?"

"Never," Sybil said, glaring at him. "We've only been out a few times. It's nothing serious."

"Then you won't care if I meet him, if it's all so casual," Matthew noted. "Or am I going to have to wait for when you decide to bring him home to meet your parents before I get a chance to speak to him?"

"Maybe. You're just as bad as Papa when it comes to evaluating boys that I date," Sybil retorted, giving him a pointed look that remarkably resembled the face Mary usually made when she was annoyed with him as well.

"I make no apologies for that. If a young lad isn't worthy of you, I'm not going to stand idly by," he said easily.

"You think far too highly of me," she sighed.

"And you, my darling sister, do not think highly enough of yourself sometimes," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

She smiled at him and shook her head ruefully.

"Oh God," she exclaimed suddenly frowning at him. "You aren't going to investigate him, are you?"

"Why would I do that?" he asked.

"That's isn't a no," she said suspiciously.

"I swear that I will not commence an investigation into your journalist friend," he said innocently. "Unless you ask me to."

"Is that because you're being nice, or because you've already investigated him?" she demanded.

He smiled smugly and sipped his Coke.

"Fucking hell," she whinged, taking a rather large gulp of her Amaretto and Coke.

They drank in silence for several moments before Sybil put her glass down and rolled her eyes.

"All right, let's hear it," she said in exasperation, looking at him in annoyance.

"I like him, actually," he said. "He's close to his family, has a brother back in Ireland. He's a socialist, which can be rather annoying, but not a dealbreaker. Do you know that before he got hired on at The Guardian, he was an Uber driver to make ends meet? Quite resourceful of him. I always respect a person who appreciates cars."

Sybil sighed and rested her head on his shoulder in resignation as she kept listening.

* * *

As usual, Anna worried for no reason. When she and Mary came back into the ballroom, she was flooded with compliments on her red ceremonial Chinese wedding dress. The silk garment hugged her figure attractively, with a sheer bodice across her chest and embroidered flowers that covered most of the gown. Mary had helped her style her hair from the long waves that she'd worn all day up into a tight bun.

When Matthew saw them come back, he smiled and turned to nudge Alex in the side. The groom stopped his conversation with Edith and looked at his best man, wondering what he wanted. Matthew simply nodded his head towards the centre of the room, and as Alex's eyes turned in that direction, his mouth fell open.

Matthew had to get him walking but soon they both were approaching Anna and Mary. Matthew smiled and veered off towards the head table to meet his wife, while Alex came forward and took Anna's hand, smiling in disbelief at her.

"When Lady Mary said you had to change, I thought it was just into something more comfortable," he muttered, looking her up and down.

"Oh, this is quite comfortable,' she replied, looking at him expectantly. "Are you pleased?"

"Love, I am humbled. You're absolutely gorgeous," he said reverently, leaning in and kissing her softly.

Mary and Matthew smiled from their seats as the happy couple went out to the garden with a photographer to take photos with the bride in her new dress.

* * *

"Maybe I should get her a drink, what do you think?" Mary asked, looking across the room at Anna and Alex. "A Coke, maybe, something sugary just to get her through the rest of the night?"

"She seems fine to me," Matthew said patiently, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Should we go and fetch them?" she asked. "They've spent too much time in that one spot. They should circulate more so all of their guests get a visit."

"They already went to each table during the toasts," he said. "Many of the guests are leaving anyway. It's late. They'll all stop in and say their goodbyes to them, so they can just stay where they are."

She frowned slightly as she watched the newlyweds. Anna was sitting across Alex's lap, his arm around her waist, hers across his shoulders, both of them laughing and chatting away with any and all who came by to see them.

"Do you like this music?" she asked, still not looking at him. "The DJ should play something more…I don't know…mainstream, shouldn't he?"

"I don't think anyone minds, or is even paying attention," he said, watching as Sybil, Gwen, Daisy and poor William were among the few still dancing.

She arched her eyebrow and kept watching.

"They're both happy, my darling," he said kindly. "Today has been wonderful, and memorable, and they're happy."

"I know, I know," she said, closing her eyes briefly and shaking her head. "It's just that Anna has always been there for me. Always. And today I just want…"

"I know," he said quietly.

"And I want her to know that I have always appreciated…" she continued.

"She knows," he said, taking her hand and finally drawing her attention. "Everything has been perfect, I assure you. I think it's time that you let them go and enjoy being newlyweds now."

Her expression softened and she reached up with her free hand and caressed his face.

"I suppose that means I need to go back to attending to my husband, doesn't it?" she asked lightly.

"Sadly for you, yes, yes, it does," he joked.

She smiled at him before her hand slid to the back of his neck and she pulled him into a teasing kiss, her tongue playing between his lips quickly before she pulled back.

"For being so patient and supportive, and for following orders quite well today," she whispered. "You are getting so much action when we get home."

"Dare I hope that the construction crews will be gone by then?" he asked, smirking at her.

"Oh, I'm quite certain the house will be all ours," she said.

"Mmm, well I can't say fairer than that," he said smugly, pecking her lightly before they drew back. He took a sip of Coke as she went back to watching Anna and Alex, far more relaxed now than she was before.

 **Home of Alex and Anna Lewis, Imperial Wharf, London, England, November 2016**

Alex stirred the chocolate sauce on the stove, tasting it quickly to judge the temperature. By the time the last of the guests had left the reception, the savoury bar and candy buffet had been emptied, but the waffle station remained. There were plates of waffles, bowls of fruit and a chocolate fountain left over, and since they had already paid for it, he and Anna decided to box it all up. Lady Mary and her sisters helped out, packing up the unopened bottles of champagne and wine and the remains of the dessert table. Those, along with all the wedding gifts, were taken away to Grantham House, and would be delivered to Alex's tomorrow afternoon, or later this afternoon, as it was now two in the morning. He had snatched waffles, fruit and chocolate sauce for him and his new wife before they left.

His new wife.

Anna had insisted on taking his family name, even though he told her it wasn't important to him that she do so. He even suggested she use 'Anna Smith-Lewis' as her legal name and 'Anna Smith' as her professional name, since that was what everyone already knew her as. This made her even more resolute to change her name, and he had to admit when Matthew took to the microphone and introduced them at the reception as 'Mr. and Mrs. Alex Lewis', he had felt an old-fashioned sort of pride. Anna Lewis. Yes, if that's what she wanted her name to be now, he could get used to that.

Matthew had warned him that things would feel different the moment he exchanged vows with Anna, and he was right. Even now, hours after the wedding, standing in his same kitchen, jacket off, shirt unbuttoned, tie gone, cufflinks off and sleeves rolled up, he felt lightheaded and giddy. He and Anna had spent every night together for over a year, but now that they were married, being here with her felt tangibly different and exciting. They were embarking on a new phase of their lives together, and he chuckled and shook his head at the thought. He was going to be with the woman he loved for the rest of his life. The very idea seemed impossible just a short time ago.

"Love," he called, taking the saucier off the hob and pouring the warm chocolate sauce into a ramekin. "What do you want on your waffle? Blueberries or strawberries?"

"Can't I have both?" Anna asked, appearing from the hallway and leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

"Of course, you can. We've got plenty," he said, laughing as he turned towards her. "I just didn't know if you…"

He stopped in his tracks, his eyes bulging and his jaw dropping at the sight of her.

Anna had let her blonde hair down after getting back home. It fell in loose waves past her shoulders. Instead of her robe, which was what he was expecting, she was wearing a tight navy blue skinsuit that left almost nothing to the imagination. The zipper of the suit was pulled down provocatively, and a large circular badge with the number '4' was sewn on just above her left breast.

He blinked as he remembered to breathe.

"Babes?" she asked, her eyes playful and bright. "You all right?"

He nodded slowly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he struggled to find his voice.

"What…where…how…" he babbled.

"Oh this? Just a little something that I picked up for our wedding night," she said, coming forward to stand before him. "Sue Storm, The Invisible Woman from The Fantastic Four. What do you think?"

"It's…I…like…like it," he struggled.

"You like it? Is that all?" she asked, smirking up at him.

"I love it," he said, finding his voice again. "Wait a second. How did you…oh, fuck. Matthew…"

"Mary, actually," she said. "Don't be mad. I would never have known about this little fantasy of yours if they hadn't intervened."

"Well, I…I just didn't think that…" he said, blushing furiously.

"You didn't think that I would go for it, if you told me?" she asked, sticking out her tongue teasingly as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Alex, I love you. If you want me to do something for you, I will. I like finding out these little secrets of yours, and I think I look quite hot, actually. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," he gasped, nodding his head vigorously. "You look sexy as all hell."

She grinned at his breathless appreciation, a heady sense of power filling her as she saw just how overwhelmed he was, all because of her. "Let me guess, you discovered the comics as a teenager?" she asked.

"Well, erm, yes, but it was more the movie came out when I was 18 or so," he said, swallowing nervously.

"Ah," she said, nodding her head. "Well, you've got me in the costume now, so what's next?"

"Honestly, I never expected to get this far, actually," he said incredulously.

"Mmm, well then, how about you get a bowl of fruit, and the chocolate sauce, and come and find your wife in our bedroom to get a closer look?" she said, leaning up and kissing him. "Don't take too long."

She turned around, walked out of the kitchen and headed upstairs to the bedroom.

He scrambled to put together a bowl of strawberries and blueberries, grabbed the chocolate sauce and scampered after her.

 **Home of Lady Mary Crawley and Matthew Crawley, Knightsbridge, London, England, November 2016**

"Alex is going to be pissed at me," Matthew said, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head.

"I suspect that he'll actually thank you quite profusely," Mary teased, kissing his chest.

"In a perfect world, maybe. You do realize that you could have ruined everything if the idea turned her off, don't you?" he asked.

"I knew she wouldn't be turned off," she said simply. "The problem with you, and with Alex, apparently, is that you don't talk about this sort of thing. You think that Anna and I are delicate and naïve, or something, and that we'll be aghast to hear that you have fantasies and desires. It doesn't occur to you that speaking about these things with one's partner is actually healthy for a relationship."

"If it works out, yes," he qualified, massaging her bare back as she settled on her side facing him. "If it doesn't, then now we've revealed ourselves as having chauvinistic and depraved thoughts and that's quite a difficult thing to overcome."

"Shocking news! Men think about having sex with their girlfriends!" she exclaimed with mock surprise.

"Since when did you become so open and bold about talking about this sort of thing? It isn't very ladylike," he asked suspiciously.

"I never was before," she admitted. "You seem to bring it out of me."

"Do I?" he asked, smiling wide.

"Don't read too much into it, I just wasn't interested in exploring that sort of thing before," she said defensively.

"Until you slept with me," he noted, ridiculously smug.

"Yes, until I felt the rapture of being ravished by Matthew Crawley," she said, frowning at him. "Are you going to let me finish my point or not?"

"All right," he relented, still smiling.

"First off, just because you share a fantasy doesn't mean it's going to come true, but it doesn't lessen you in my eyes, either. Second, just think about all the great fun we would have missed out on had I not finally dragged your fantasies of me out of you? And it isn't just the sex. It's the intimacy of being completely open with each other. The same thing goes for Alex and Anna."

"Can we just use ourselves as the example?" he asked, cringing slightly. "I adore Anna, but I'd rather not have the mental image of…"

"Understood," she said quickly.

"I agree completely with what you say, and if it all goes well, then yes, it's absolutely fantastic," he continued. "My point is this is 2016. There should be no expectation that a woman need to perform for her partner. I encouraged Alex to tell Anna about his…ideas…but I can understand his reluctance. It's a big risk. He was terrified that he was being selfish."

"And I think that's absolute rubbish," she scoffed. "Do you think I act our your fantasies for you out of a sense of duty? I do it because I love you, Matthew, and I enjoy it. It's my choice to do it. I don't see anything remotely chauvinistic about that at all, just as if I were to refuse, it wouldn't be because I consider you having fantasies of me demeaning. I'd most likely refuse because it wouldn't be the sort of thing I was interested in. That's all. It's not as though I would stop making love to you simply because you revealed a hidden desire to me."

"Well, I'm glad it's worked out for us, and I hope to God that it works out for them since, it can't be stopped now," he said.

She smiled and ran her finger along his chest. He hummed lightly in pleasure, and looked over at her with a cute smile.

"Darling, did it ever occur to you that women might have fantasies as well?" she purred.

"Of course," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I wouldn't be surprised."

She arched her eyebrow at him, waiting for him to clue in.

"You?" he said in shock. "About me?"

"Yes, about you!" she said pointedly, laughing at his perplexed expression. "Is it so hard to believe that I have sexual fantasies about my own husband?"

"No! Well, yes, a little…" he said, frowning. "I just…wow."

"Very eloquent," she said, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I do. I fantasize about you. And I know that Anna fantasizes about Alex as well, and so it's ridiculous for him to have kept silent, when she was desperate to know."

"Desperate?" he questioned.

"She complained about it during her hen night, of all things," she revealed. "Of course, we were all hammered by then, but still."

"Crikey," he blurted out.

"I must say that in my fantasies, you're much more suave than you're being at the moment," she said wryly. She leaned down and kissed his chest, her breasts pressing against him.

"Well, darling, erm, is there anything that I can…do…for you?" he asked bravely.

"Are you sure you've got the energy?" she asked. "You seemed rather worn out after the last round."

He smiled and kissed her, their tongues caressing as he took her hand and brought it down to close around his firm arousal.

"I'm ready when you are," he said confidently.

"My, my," she smiled against his mouth, stroking him lightly with her fingers. "All right, darling. For what I have in mind, you'll need to be standing up."

He grinned and got out of bed to comply.

 **Military Intelligence, Section 5, Thames House, Millbank, London, England, November 2016**

Charles sighed as he sat at his desk and scrolled through the various reports on his computer monitor. He had grown rather used to working out of Thames House, rather than his HMRC office back at 100 Parliament Street. He didn't feel that he was surrounded by accountants and bureaucrats here. Still basking in the glow and credit of his settlement with Sir Richard Carlisle, he could have taken the rest of the year off, if he wanted to. There was a question though, still nagging at him, which kept his mind focused on what was supposed to be a closed file.

On the surface, it seemed quite simple. Sir Richard's family went back generations, had been in the newspaper business going back to before the First World War. It wasn't particularly novel that he would want to avoid paying his fair share of taxes, and normally such a case wouldn't come across Charles' desk. It was Tony who had tipped him off that the affairs at Sir Richard's casinos may not be entirely legitimate, and that was how the investigation took off. It wasn't only that the media side of Sir Richard's business was underreporting revenues. It was the casino side that had far more transgressions, and was responsible for the lion's share of penalties and fines. Beyond that, the casino business in general always drew suspicion – an industry known for its ties to organized crime, money laundering, and extortion – the exact crimes that Charles' division was created to fight.

The worst he'd found though during their searches and examinations was poor accounting practices, something that any corporation across Britain could be guilty of, though perhaps not on so extreme a scale. Charles thought Sir Richard was the kind of man who wouldn't be against getting his hands dirty in the pursuit of fame and fortune, but he didn't find anything overly scandalous upon which to delve further. That was why they had settled – HMRC didn't want to waste time and money chasing shadows, and Sir Richard didn't want the matter dragged out and give his rivals fodder for their editorials.

Charles had tried to get Sir Richard to cut a better deal and give him information on any other businesses with questionable finances, but his lawyers had rejected any kind of discussion on the topic, portraying their client as just a successful businessman who's only failing was putting too much trust in underlings to deal with his accounting. That was obviously a lie, but Charles didn't have much incentive to pursue it further. Now though, months later, he still wondered if Sir Richard Carlisle was but the tip of a very large iceberg.

"Mr. Blake," the agent said, knocking lightly on his door.

"Yes," Charles said, looking up and nodding.

"Here's the analysis of the casinos that you requested," the agent said, placing a stapled document on his desk. "I emailed you the electronic copy."

"Thank you," Charles said, scanning over the first page. "These are mainly Carlisle-owned casinos at the top of the earnings list."

"Yes, sir," the agent said.

Charles frowned, staring at the page and pursing his lips in thought.

"Sir?" the agent asked.

"I would have thought the Crawley Group casinos would have been higher. Sir Richard was apparently concerned about them cutting into his market share. That's what Matthew Crawley told me," Charles recalled.

"Perhaps Matthew Crawley wasn't as aware of the financials," the agent suggested.

"The Managing Director isn't aware of the financials?" Charles asked, frowning and shaking his head. "No, I highly doubt that."

"Well, Mr. Crawley isn't with Crawley Group anymore, anyway. He's running his own charity now. I read about it a few months back in The Guardian," the agent said.

"Yes, I remember that, but I also seem to remember that his wife, Lady Mary Crawley, has been President of Crawley Group for a while, now," Charles said.

"Do you think that there's something going on at Crawley Group, sir?" the agent asked.

"I have no reason to suspect it," Charles said. "But then, I suppose there's never a reason to suspect anything until one presents itself."

"Yes, sir," the agent said.

Charles flipped the page of the report.

"Let's put Matthew Crawley's charity on the watch list. Since it's newly founded, it makes sense that we would pay close attention anyway, but I expect there will be substantial donations from Crawley Group, and credits claimed in return," Charles ordered.

"Yes, sir," the agent confirmed. "However, given the publicity of the Carlisle settlement, do you think that anyone is going to try anything so soon?"

"No, but that doesn't mean the Crawley family wasn't trying something before," Charles said.

"Yes, sir," the agent said, turning and leaving his office.

Charles turned back to his computer screen and brought up an internet browser window. A few clicks later and a stock photo from Lady Mary and Matthew Crawley's wedding filled his screen. He picked up his coffee mug and took a long sip, staring at the couple intently.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 2016**

"Pardon me, Your Ladyship," Carson announced, bringing the tea tray into the parlour and setting it down on the side table.

"Carson," Violet said pleasantly. She turned back to Isobel as the butler went about setting out place settings, pouring their tea and putting the tower of pastries between them.

"Mrs. Crawley," Carson said respectfully, handing her a tea cup and saucer.

"Thank you, Carson," Isobel said, smiling and nodding her head.

"Your Ladyship, the pilots have called, as you requested, and inform me that Mr. and Mrs. Lewis have landed safely in Rome," Carson advised, handing the Dowager Countess her tea.

"Oh, very good," Violet said drily. "Thank you, Carson. That will be all."

"Your Ladyship. Mrs. Crawley," Carson said, bowing his head and leaving the parlour.

"Italy was a lovely choice," Isobel noted as Violet took a sip of her tea. "Not as warm this time of year, of course, but I often find that traveling during low season is quite nice."

"I agree," Violet said crisply. "It was perfectly warm when we were there, and I quite liked the lack of tourists."

"Speaking of which, have you had a chance to look at the information I sent to you?" Isobel asked. "They say that this a banner year for seeing the Aurora Borealis."

"I glanced at it," Violet said, frowning slightly. "Are you quite sure there will be enough for us to do in Sweden? I can't even imagine what we'll eat there. A lot of fish, I suspect."

"Well, we'll be in the capital for the most part, it's an overnight trip to see the Northern Lights. You will not be stuck in the wilderness, I promise," Isobel said cheerfully.

"Very well," Violet said, waving her hand. "Make the arrangements and let me know when the itinerary is complete."

Isobel smiled in satisfaction and sipped her tea. She watched as her friend looked down at her tea cup, deep in thought.

"You miss him," Isobel said patiently.

"Miss who?" Violet asked with feigned ignorance. "Alex? Of course not. They were just here. I've had my fill of him for a few months, at least."

Isobel smiled. "I remember when Matthew first went away to Cambridge. He called every night at 8pm precisely. No matter what he was doing, whether he was in the library, out with his friends, in his dorm room, he would take time out to call. He set an alarm to remind him."

Violet nodded and smiled at the recollection.

"Well, eventually he only called every two days, then every three, then every week. Now, I get texts and emails regularly but his calls are every two weeks, or fewer," Isobel said. "I sometimes talk to Mary and Sybil more often."

"He's grown up, developed a career, gotten married," Violet said. "He's his own man now, and you should be proud, Isobel."

"Of course I am," Isobel agreed. "And truly, I don't miss the daily calls, at least not very often, anyway. I'm content to watch his life from afar now."

"So you should be," Violet said.

"And so should you," Isobel said pointedly.

"Alex isn't my son," Violet said dismissively. "I hope he does end up calling me less now that he has a proper wife to look after him. It was sometimes a chore finding anything to talk about with him, you know."

Isobel smiled and sipped her tea.

"To say nothing for the fact that he does talk quite a lot," Violet continued. "I'll sometimes go minutes listening to his stories without the chance to get a word in, not that I ever have much to add. He always has such fanciful tales to regale me with. I don't know what even causes him to think I have any interest in hearing what he has to say most of the time. Robert and Rosamund never ring me just to have a chat. They call, tell me what the purpose of their call is, and we get through it, and that's that. Alex just wants to talk for talking's sake, I ask you."

Isobel kept smiling as she reached for a scone.

"Well, not that I envy her, but Anna will have to endure his chattering now, and best of luck to her," Violet said, nodding her head firmly.

"Excuse me, Your Ladyship," Carson called, coming into the room once more. "Mr. Lewis is on the phone for you. I've told him that you're taking tea with Mrs. Crawley and that I would check if you were available to speak with him. Shall I have him ring back?"

"No, certainly not, Carson," Isobel interjected immediately. "Do bring the phone here, please."

"Yes, Mrs. Crawley," Carson obeyed, going over to the desk and taking up the cordless phone. He brought it over and handed it to Violet.

"Thank you, Carson," Violet said, nodding her head and dismissing the butler. She pressed the button to pick up the call and looked over at Isobel as she did, giving her old friend a grateful smile.

"Yes, Alex. You've arrived?" Violet said into the phone. "How was your flight? How is Anna?"

 **Penthouse Apartment, Otranto, Lecce, Italy, November 2016**

"Your hands are cold!" Anna squealed, shivering and squirming as Alex massaged her back.

"Relax, love," he said, laughing at her unimpressed frown. "They'll warm up."

"God, I don't know why you insisted we come out here," she groaned, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and snuggling closer to him. "I'm sure the sunrise is just as beautiful from inside."

"If we were inside, you'd be burrowed under the covers and would miss one of the wonders of nature," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"If we were inside, I'd be giving you a very good reason to stay burrowed under the covers and forget all about the stupid sunrise, but we're not," she grumbled.

"Come on, love, it's just a bit longer. The sky's already brightening," he said cheerfully. "Besides, of the two of us, you're the early riser."

"That's when we have to go to work, not when we're on our bloody honeymoon," she said. "And considering that we were dancing all night, I've barely gotten any sleep."

"And you still look radiant, Mrs. Lewis," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Oh, fuck off," she shot back.

He chuckled and held her tighter, pressing his bare chest against hers, wrapping his leg across her thigh. Between the blanket that he had spread out on the chaise lounge before they had lied down, the soft duvet covering them, and their shared body heat, it eventually became quite warm.

"Mmm," she sighed, relaxing finally.

"There, not so bad now, is it?" he asked, smiling as he smoothed over her hair.

"Not so bad," she agreed, nuzzling his neck. He smelled of the sea air, and soap.

They had stumbled home rather drunk after dancing at a packed beach club into the wee hours, laughing, singing and shushing each other as they wandered the quiet streets. Upon reaching their rented apartment, they clumsily removed each other's clothes leading to the bedroom, their laughter eventually giving way to wet kisses and heated sex. A second impromptu round in the shower had almost led to injury, and they were lucky to collapse into bed without further incident, until Alex's mobile unceremoniously reminded them of his plan, made when he was sober, admittedly, to watch the sun come up over the Adriatic out on the terrace. She complained vehemently, but followed him out all the same.

She wasn't actually as cold as she let on earlier as she placed soft kisses along his neck, her hand reaching lightly across his stomach. Though it was winter, the temperatures here in the south were still in the mid-teens, and the weather was sunny and quite pleasant. They had come here after visits to Rome and Florence, Alex being determined to take her to the sea, and holed up in their penthouse in this resort town just steps from the sand. They took day trips to Lecce to see the churches and tour the old town, visited nearby village markets, and ate incredible meals of fresh seafood and pasta at tiny restaurants where there were no menus.

It was almost better than their vacation in France, a similar mix of time spent in the big cities, with their museums, fine dining and shopping, and the smaller towns where not a word of English was spoken and other tourists were rare to spot. The fact that neither of them spoke a word of Italian didn't bother them in the least. Communicating with the friendly locals became a bit of a fun game, and after two weeks in Italy, they'd picked up a few words, though it seemed every new place they went had a different dialect.

She caressed his cheek, then turned him towards her and kissed him, moaning into his mouth as his tongue duelled with hers. It was still difficult to believe she was here, vacationing in Italy with her new husband, her life changed so completely from before she met him. She smiled as she felt his hand move down past the waistband of her panties and fondle her arse, their legs tangling together as they kept kissing.

"Love," he said, kissing her again, then turning to look out to sea. "It's starting."

She whinged in protest, then settled against him. Watching the light blue sky above the horizon, she smiled as the long awaited moment arrived. It began as a small fireball in the distance, slowly growing in size and shape, the water reflecting it as a shimmering ray stretching seemingly straight to them. They watched in silence for several minutes, bundled beneath the duvet in a warm embrace, their minds suspended on the edge of nodding off as a new day awoke before them.

"Mmm, not bad," she said lazily, lying in his arms.

 **Office of The Reginald Crawley Charitable Foundation, Monument, London, England, November 2016**

Sybil scrolled across her tablet screen carefully, checking and re-checking that she'd dealt with all the questions listed on the electronic document. She wished, yet again, that she could handle interviews as naturally as Matthew did and not have to use notes, but she tended to forget things when she was nervous, and even now, months into the job, she was still getting used to some parts of her role.

The early days of the Foundation could not have gone better. Not only had they raised a ton of money and decided on several worthy causes as the first beneficiaries, but Sybil was loving her job, even more than she expected. Matthew had already brought her along to meetings with Oxfam over the ongoing Syrian refugee crisis, and to tour a women's shelter in Essex. She spent a delightful day in Manchester with Isobel visiting the Royal Infirmary where Dr. Crawley had worked, and she was planning fundraising events for the holidays and next year's London Marathon. With the defence of her dissertation scheduled for early next year, she had more time to devote to work over the past few months. With each passing week, Matthew was giving her more and more responsibility, and her successes were far outnumbering her mistakes.

Which was why she was now conducting this interview. They needed additional staff with the increased activities and Matthew's growing ambitious plans. She knew he was never going to be content to just write a bunch of cheques and dole out his money. He was becoming far more discerning in which causes he wanted to support, and there was no lack of suitors, either. The word was out now, and everyone was knocking on their door looking for funds.

"Now, then, did you have any questions for me about the position or the Foundation and what we do here?" Sybil asked, finally looking up from her tablet and moving into the unscripted part of the interview. One thing she was well equipped to do was figure out whether a candidate would get along with Matthew or not, which was obviously important. It wasn't that he was difficult to deal with, but his professional persona was different from his personal one, even around her, and she had to be certain that anyone they hired would be as driven and professional as he was.

"A few, if that's all right," the candidate asked.

Sybil nodded and smiled politely.

"You mentioned that some travel might be involved?" the candidate asked.

"A bit, but not much," she replied. "Your main role will be to vet the different organizations who apply to us for aid. The actual trips – where we go and inspect the charities themselves – Matthew and I will handle those. There may be the odd time that you meet with the organization yourself to get a better understanding of their application, but it wouldn't be outside of England, I would think. Anything out of the country you could have a video conference."

"All right," the candidate said. "And how would you describe the office culture here?"

"Hard working and professional," Sybil answered. "We're very busy and we're managing multi-million pound portfolio that's steadily growing. On top of that, one of our goals is to ensure that as much of our money as possible actually gets to those who need it, rather than be spent on administration, so time is always of the essence. The faster we do our job and get the funds allocated, the sooner we can help those in need. Matthew runs a rather fast pace and you'll need to be able to keep up."

"I see," the candidate said timidly.

"Do you expect that to be a problem?" she asked, wary of the candidate's shyness.

"No," the candidate replied immediately. "I've worked in several offices, although this one is awfully grand."

Sybil smiled at the comment. "Well, Matthew likes it that way. He thinks that if the environment here is comfortable, we'll all work better, and I'd say he's been right so far."

"I'm pleased to hear that he's concerned for the well-being of his staff. The way you described him before, and from what I've read about him, well, it makes him seem rather intimidating," the candidate admitted.

"Oh no, please don't get me wrong," Sybil laughed. "He's very serious, Matthew, but he knows how to have fun too, under the right circumstances. I promise you. He's demanding, yes, but he isn't unfair. You'll enjoy working for him. Everyone here does."

"Well, I appreciate you saying so, but you're related, aren't you?" the candidate noted, laughing a bit. "Surely he isn't the same with you as he is with everyone else?"

"We're only related because he married my sister. And, actually, I'd say he's much worse with me," Sybil said wryly. "Anyway, he'll go easy on you at first. I always make sure he doesn't scare off the new people."

"Thank you," the candidate said, smiling in relief. "I know it will sound silly, but I just find him quite larger-than-life, even though I've yet to meet him. Just the story about him in The Guardian, how he left his job to start this Foundation, named after his father, and how he wants to approach charitable giving in a different way than has been done in the past, it's all just so impressive, really. I'm a little person, an ordinary person, but when I read that, well, it made me want to be a part of it somehow, as though it's my calling to work here."

"That doesn't sound silly to me," Sybil said kindly, though she immediately pictured Mary rolling her eyes if she were to hear such a speech. "And you're right. Matthew can be rather inspiring, and it's his vision that's made all of this possible. There are moments where we all get swept up in the good that we're doing, but he wants us to be focused on the task at hand as well. He's rather level-headed, at least as far as the work goes."

"Well, I'll consider myself lucky if I am able to work for him," the candidate said genuinely. "I can't wait to meet him, really."

"All right, then, was that all?" Sybil asked.

"Yes, I think so," the candidate replied.

"If anything else comes up, send me an email and I'll get back to you. He wants to move on this quickly so we'll likely make a decision on all the candidates by the end of the week.

Sybil rose from her chair and the candidate did the same. She escorted the candidate out of the boardroom, down the hall and to the front reception area.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Lady Sybil," the candidate said cheerfully.

"Oh, you can just call me Sybil," Sybil replied, shaking the candidate's hand. "And thank you for coming in, Miss Swire."

"Please, it's Lavinia," Lavinia replied. "Good day."

 **Rented Apartment, Messina, Sicily, Italy, November 2016**

"For tonight's gelato, we have fragola and cioccolato," Alex announced, sitting down on the couch and balancing the bowl in one hand. He put his other arm around her as she cuddled against him and reached for a spoon.

"Mmm, that's so good," she exclaimed, tasting her spoonful of both flavours of Italian ice cream. "I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes by the time we're done this trip. Between having pasta, Nutella and gelato every day, my ass is going to be huge when we get back to London."

"Fine by me," he said, licking his spoon. "Just gives me more to grab on to."

"Shut up," she said, slapping his thigh. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," he replied easily. "I love your ass."

She sighed and gave up, reaching for another spoonful of gelato. They eventually finished off all of it and he put the bowl and spoons on the side table before pulling her to him and kissing her neck.

"Babes," she said, rubbing his hands across her front. "Do you ever think about contacting your father?"

"Nope," he replied, kissing her again. "Why would I?"

"I just wondered if you've ever been curious, is all. Lady Grantham told me that he has other children, so you have siblings," she explained.

"Half-siblings, whom I've never met and don't even know that I exist," he corrected her, leaning his head in and nuzzling her hair. "I don't want anything to do with him. I'd think you of all people would understand that."

"I do," she said, turning her head and looking at him kindly. "But, I knew my Dad. I was 15 when Mum finally left him. You never got to know yours."

"Because he didn't want to know me," he said quietly. "He didn't want me, Anna. He left before I was even born. So, good riddance to him."

She looked at his tight expression and pursed lips, the Dowager Countess' words ringing in her ears.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine, really," he said tiredly. "I'm over it. He didn't want me. I didn't need him. You're all the family I need, love."

She looked at him carefully. Both of Alex's parents had abandoned him, leaving him essentially on his own since the age of sixteen. Anna's Mum and Dad were hardly shining role models, but she'd at least had some semblance of a family for most of her life. In his professional life, Alex's independence and self-sufficiency served him well, but in his personal life, he'd suffered. She could see that now. His stubbornness, his wariness, his penchant for being suspicious and never opening up to anyone save for Mr. Crawley were all aftereffects of growing up without anyone to rely on.

Yet he had taken a chance on her, pursued her despite her giving him no indication that she was interested, at first. She realized now that he shared parts of himself with her that he didn't with anyone else. How long had he waited for this? Not just to have a wife, but to have a confidant, an ally, someone who wouldn't leave him.

Turning in his hold, she sat up and straddled him, sitting in his lap and framing his face with her hands, making him look up at her.

"Alex," she said softly. "I want you. I'll always want you."

He smiled shakily at her, his hands on her knees, just below her skirt.

She leaned down and kissed him, pressing her lips to his and opening his mouth so she could slip her tongue against his. He responded eagerly, his hands sliding under her skirt and over her bare thighs. She moved her hips against his, smiling against his mouth as she felt his growing arousal beneath her.

Breaking away from his mouth, she kissed his face, then moved to his neck, nipping and licking his skin as her hands came up and pulled her hair tie free, shaking her blonde tresses loose. Kissing him again, she pulled back, smiling down at his dazed look.

"Let your wife take care of you, Alex," she said wickedly, a shiver going through her at how wanton she sounded.

He raised his arms as she reached down and tugged his shirt free, bringing it up and over his head, then discarding it to the floor. Making sure she had his full attention, she slowly unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it free of her arms, grinning at him as she undid her bra and tossed it aside.

She laughed and slapped at his hands as he tried to reach for her. Shaking her head, she smiled and got up off the couch, standing before him. Turning around, she bit her lower lip as she unzipped her skirt and bent over, grinning when she heard his audible gasp as her skirt fell to the floor.

Her eyes found his when she faced him once again. She deliberately looked down between his legs, then back up to his eyes, and slowly licked her lips.

"Off. Now," she said firmly.

He quickly undid his belt and unzipped his trousers. She grinned at his enthusiasm as he removed his trousers and shorts and sat back, naked and obviously eager with anticipation.

"Good boy," she drawled, placing her hands on his thighs and leaning over to take him in her mouth.

He groaned loudly and grabbed the cushions to either side of him, suddenly feeling quite warm as he watched her head moving on him. His eyes feasted on every part of her that he could see – the rings on her finger against his thigh, her blonde hair spilling down to her shoulders, her smooth back and the curve of her bottom. She was his wife and he couldn't imagine having ever been happier.

"Anna," he moaned, his hips thrusting towards her.

She pulled back and stroked him several times. "Are you ready for me?" she asked, grinning at him.

"God, yes, please," he begged.

Holding his gaze, she shimmied her panties down her legs, stepping out of them and taking hold of his shoulders as she straddled him once more. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and sighed as she took him in, his hands holding her hips and helping to guide her.

Her eyes opened and found his once more as they moved together, increasing their speed when the other needed it. She kissed him feverishly, and his arms came up and across her back, clutching her tight as he took over, thrusting firmly as she cried out and whimpered into his mouth. She found her release first, his fingers moving between them and helping prolong her peak. He followed soon after, her fierce voice in his ear finally sending him over. They stayed locked in a tight hug on the couch as they caught their breath.

"I love you, Anna," he whispered, kissing her again.

"Love you too," she said happily, kissing him back, then resting her head on his shoulder as she felt his beating heart against her chest.

 **Crockfords Casino, Mayfair, London, England, November 2016**

Thomas looked over the felt table one last time before reaching over and throwing the small white ball into the spinning roulette wheel with a flick of his wrist. He stepped back as the gamblers watched, transfixed by the flight of the ball as it went round and round, eventually losing speed and jumping off its track, bouncing around frenetically before finally settling into the chosen slot.

"Black 22," Thomas announced. He swept his rake across the table, sweeping up the chips of the lost bets. Some of the gamblers groaned and departed, while others moved in eagerly to take their places. Thomas retrieved a stack of coloured chips and pushed them towards a tall black man who had been playing for about a dozen spins now.

"Congratulations," Thomas said. "You're on a bit of a streak."

"So far," the man smiled. He took a chip off of his stack and flipped it back to Thomas. "For you, Thomas. Keep it up."

"Thank you," Thomas said, smiling as he took the chip, tapped it on the polished bumper of the table and put it in the tip box.

The new gamblers counted out their notes and chips and placed them on the table. Thomas exchanged them for roulette chips and gave each player their own colour. The usual murmur went up as the players debated what numbers and colours to bet on. Thomas stood by patiently, exchanging smiles with the black man who had already placed his bet.

"Real nice place, this," the man said.

"We expanded early in the year," Thomas noted.

"I read about that, had to come in and see it for myself," the man replied. "Is Lady Mary Crawley around, do you know?"

"Lady Mary is usually about, but she's not in tonight, I'm afraid," Thomas replied, surprised by the man's question.

"Ah, guess I missed her, then," the man said.

Thomas smiled politely and nodded, then checked to make sure all the bets were in before picking up the roulette ball and preparing for another toss.

* * *

When Thomas went on break, the black man cashed out his chips and stopped playing. Thomas found the timing rather peculiar, but didn't pay any attention as he made his way to the employee break room in the back.

"Thomas, hey."

He stopped and turned around as the black man caught up to him, a smile on his lips.

"Thanks for tonight," the man said. "That's the best run I've had in a long time. Do you only work the roulette table?"

"You're welcome, sir," Thomas said politely. "No, I work all the tables but I'm on roulette for the next little while."

"Maybe I'll look for you the next time I'm in," the man said, still smiling.

"Looking forward to it, sir, have a good evening," Thomas said.

"Thomas, before you go," the man said quickly. "I was wondering if you could do a favour for me?"

"A favour, sir?" Thomas asked, confused at the request, his mind filling with possibilities.

The man reached into his jeans and took out a small envelope. He held it out to Thomas.

"If you could see that Lady Mary gets this, I would appreciate it. I was hoping to run into her tonight but you said that she isn't here," he explained.

Thomas looked at the envelope curiously. "And what's in there, exactly?" he asked, not taking the envelope just yet.

"Oh, it's just a USB stick with some photos and videos I'm sure she'll want to see," he said.

"Are you a friend of Lady Mary's then, Mr…?" Thomas asked.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "My name's Erik."

"Well, Erik," Thomas said, looking at him for a moment before pointing to the counter on the far side of the casino. "If you just take that to the desk over there, they'll make sure it gets to Lady Mary."

Erik looked over to where Thomas was pointing, then nodded and smiled at the dealer.

"Thank you, Thomas, that's perfect," he said, nodding and heading away to drop off his package.

Thomas watched him go, mulling over the man, their conversation, and the envelope and its contents in his mind as he turned and headed off on his break.

 **Home of Lady Mary Crawley and Matthew Crawley, Knightsbridge, London, England, November 2016**

Matthew looked out the window at the park across the street. It was already dark out, the street lamps lit and the area quiet. He would have to get used to that, he supposed – the quiet. Even back when he was living at the Shangri-La, or staying over at Grantham House, there was always a fair bit of noise from the city all around him. Knightsbridge was still in the heart of the city centre, but he felt shielded from all the urban noise somehow, as though this was an enclave of sort. It was difficult for cars to navigate the small residential streets of the neighbourhood, meaning that the traffic snarls of the nearby shopping areas could be left behind. He liked the idea of coming home and escaping all of that.

Turning away from the window, he looked left and right, up and down as he left the study and walked down the hall. There wasn't a single room that Mary hadn't touched in her renovation and redesign. She'd had the entire house painted, for one, but had also updated all the doors and windows, and even knocked down a wall or five. The place still retained its period-era façade, and enough elements that it was still the stately home it always was, but now with all the modern conveniences – pot lights in all the rooms, a brand new, modern kitchen, glass showers and marble soaker tubs in all the bathrooms, and a central audio and video system so they could literally watch the same show on any television in the house.

He descended the grand staircase and walked leisurely through the foyer, taking in the massive crystal chandelier hanging above. His new home wasn't nearly as large, or richly appointed as Grantham House, but it was still far beyond the house he'd grown up in back in Manchester. Living in a London mansion wasn't part of his original plan from years ago, but he didn't mind. The cost of buying, furnishing and maintaining such a home was an acceptable expense to keep his wife happy.

He grinned and went in search of her.

* * *

Mary walked around the long dining room table, smiling as she took in the polished, custom-made black marble. She expected that Granny would have a fit when she saw it, so non-traditional and different. There was something fun about shocking her family and friends with her design choices. This wasn't going to be a miniature version of Downton Abbey or Grantham House, or a copy of any of the luxurious homes she'd frequented through her life. The design was still sophisticated and elegant, but with her own personal, modern touch. She and Matthew had lived in a construction zone ever since coming back from California, but the results had been well worth it.

She chuckled to herself as she reached one end of the dining room and looked at her reflection in the large mirror. If her younger self could see her now – married to Matthew Crawley, of all people, and living in splendour in Knightsbridge. Her destiny had always been to take over Downton, to rule from Yorkshire as so many had before her. Now, she couldn't dream of leaving London, finally feeling as though she had arrived, both professionally and personally.

Her fingers came together as she idly played with her rings. Two years ago, she and Matthew had started dating, and even that seemed an entirely different life altogether now. They had been through so much, survived adversity that she never would have bothered trying to overcome in any of her previous relationships. She wasn't delusional, and didn't believe that somehow everything would be golden from here on. They would argue and fight, face challenges from both within and without, such was their lot given the life they chose to lead and the world they chose to live in. But she wasn't afraid of any of that. Standing here, in their home, she felt supremely confident that whatever came, Matthew would stand by her, and she by him. They were truly partners, a team, and she never felt more powerful.

"You look rather smug," he said, his hands taking hold of her waist from behind, his lips ghosting across her ear.

She smiled as she watched their image in the mirror. "Smug? That's all you can come up with to describe your wife?"

"No," he said softly, his playful eyes and teasing smile leaving no doubt as to his mood. "I can come up with all manner of words to describe my wife in this moment."

"Mmm, do tell, darling," she challenged him, her eyes never leaving his in the mirror as she leaned back against him. "I'm intrigued."

"My wife," he began, making small circles on her hips with his hands. "Is brilliant, judging by how incredible our redesigned, renovated home now looks. She is also beautiful. This particular dress is a favourite of mine."

Her eyelids fluttered as he pressed a light kiss to her neck and ran one hand across her stomach and up and down the thin silk of the vee-neck framing her cleavage.

"She is ever so sexy," he continued, his voice liquid as it flooded her senses.

"Is that different from being beautiful?" she asked, struggling to keep her eyes open as his fingers deliberately brushed across her warm skin, dipping beneath her dress and bra to lightly touch her breast.

"It is," he confirmed. "She is beautiful for her elegance, and her warmth, and her generous heart, which often goes unknown and unappreciated. However, I say my wife is sexy because when she chooses to, she can inspire all manner of improper thoughts."

"Improper, you say?" she asked lightly, moving her hand behind her and reaching for him. She smiled when she found him already aroused. "Mmm, yes, improper indeed."

"Above all, though, if I was limited to only one word, I would describe my wife as magical," he said, kissing her bare neck once more.

"Magical? How so?" she asked, genuinely confused at his choice.

"Magical, yes," he replied. "For I find that there is always at least one moment every day, where I stand in awe of her, astonished and amazed, as though I'm under a spell from which I never want to wake up. No matter how boring, or annoying, or normal the day may be, there is, without fail, a moment, at least one, where I marvel that I get to call this woman mine."

She grinned widely, finally turning around and taking hold of his lapels, pulling him towards her.

"The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you," she whispered before kissing him deeply.

They both laughed as they came apart, her hands smoothing out his suit jacket as he held her.

"Happy with how everything's turned out?" he asked.

"Very much so, with both the house, and all else," she answered.

"Good," he said, kissing her again. "Now we can start planning the house warming."

"In due time. I want to have a few weeks of enjoying this place with just you before we let the masses in," she replied.

"I'll have to endeavour to keep you occupied and entertained then if it will be just the two of us," he noted.

"You will, and I have the utmost faith in your abilities," she said, kissing him again.

"Well then, shall we head to the kitchen and see what we can find for dinner?" he suggested.

She took in his blond hair, bright eyes and pink lips. She could feel his warmth beneath her fingers, and his firm chest, the muscles that she knew lurked beneath, which made her think of how it felt when all of that strength was focused on her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, licking her lips.

He narrowed his eyes, watching her carefully. "Famished," he replied.

"Well, that won't do," she said. "I can't leave my husband wanting."

"You are more aware than others of how picky my appetite can be," he said.

"That I am," she agreed, arching her eyebrow at him. "I'm intimately familiar with just how ravenous you are when stirred."

He kissed her again, groaning as she reached between them and stroked him through his trousers.

"Mary, darling, please," he growled. "Here, please."

The need in his voice made her drunk with power and delight. They were more alike than she had ever imagined. Both of them loved hearing the other beg. Both of them seemed to know when the other was feeling particularly playful, and moreover, as it was now, their moods always seemed to mirror each other. She could see the need in his eyes, and she expected he saw the same in hers.

She grinned and kissed him, her hand reaching for his belt. "Yes, here, now."

She pushed him towards the dining table as they kept kissing, her fingers succeeding in pulling his belt free, then sliding his jacket off his shoulders and on to the floor. His cufflinks and shirt followed, and she kissed his bare chest as they continued to move. When he felt a chair behind him, he kissed her hard before spinning her around and against the table.

A gasp escaped her lips as she leaned on the dining table and felt him behind her. His fingers found the zipper along her back and soon her dress was falling down her arms and to her waist. She took off her bra as he worked her dress past her hips, making her yelp in surprise as he turned her around once more and lifted her on to the table and eased her on to her back, now wearing just her panties and stockings.

She briefly thought of how wonderful the chandelier looked hanging from the ceiling before his firm grip on her thighs pulled her to the edge of the table. Her hands grabbed the table for purchase as he raised her legs and pulled her panties off. She felt exposed, open and incredibly randy as he parted her thighs and leaned over her, kissing her breasts, then moving lower.

"Matthew!" she cried as she felt his finger slide into her, soon joined by a second and his lips and tongue. The satisfaction of finally seeing their finished home, the joy of how well it had all turned out, and the thrill of flirting with her husband had her so aroused that it did not take much for him to send her over the edge. He knew her body so well now, knew exactly what she liked. When she was finally able to open her eyes and raise her head, he was smiling down at her, massaging her legs.

"Your turn," she said firmly, reaching for him and pulling him up on to the table with her. She didn't waste time thinking of how outrageous this all was. Her hands undressed him urgently, both of them determined to lose themselves without another thought.

"Come here," he said tightly, moving so that he was on his back.

She bent over him, taking him past her lips and stroking him with her hands. He swelled in her mouth, and she moaned around him, delirious from the effect she had on him, that she could do this to him. Unexpectedly, he pulled her up, his obvious desperation firing her own arousal.

She went to straddle him, his hands holding on to her thighs as she moved into position across his hips.

"Look up, darling," he rasped, and she paused for a moment, not sure what he meant. Her eyes lifted from his flushed face and her breath caught as she realized she was facing the mirror at the end of the room, the entire tableau of what they were about to do crystal clear in the smooth glass.

He took advantage of her distraction to pull her down on to him, and she cried out, a dark thrill coursing through her as she watched them, every touch and sensation heightened. It was as though she was detached from herself, looking from somewhere outside her own body, seeing herself taking him deep inside her, then rise, and take him in again. Yet at the same time, she felt his every thrust, heard her every moan and cry, sensed the intense waves of pleasure build inside of her.

His hands moved up and fondled her breasts as she increased her pace. She was squeezing him, driving him mad, daring him to try and outlast her. He sat up and captured her breast with his mouth, her hands coming up and cradling the back of his head, her eyes never leaving the mirror. They moved together, again and again, until she saw and felt herself on the brink and cried out as she flew past.

"Yes! Yes!" she squealed, her voice echoing loudly off the high ceiling of the dining room.

He held her tight as she rode out her release, kissing her neck and rocking her gently in his arms. She gulped in air, breathing heavily, hanging on to him as she sat in his lap. Opening her eyes finally, she looked at herself in the mirror, her dark eyes, dishevelled hair, and swollen lips, her thin arms clinging to her husband's broad back.

She smiled wickedly and grinded her hips against him.

* * *

"I've unleashed a monster," she said thickly, closing her eyes and snuggling against his warm chest as he pulled the duvet over them.

"What do you mean?" he asked, laughing as he caressed her bare back.

"You know exactly what I mean," she retorted. "First, you had me in the dining room, on top of the dining table no less, which I still can't believe we did, then on the bathroom counter, here in our bed, in the shower, and once more in bed again. I'm absolutely exhausted and I'll be useless until late afternoon tomorrow at the earliest."

"You conveniently failed to mention what you did to me in the kitchen when we finally did have an actual dinner, or on the stairs on the way up here," he said lightly. "And I'm not entirely sure that I initiated each of those trysts either."

"Details, details," she sighed.

"I suddenly feel quite grateful that we have so many spare rooms," he said casually. "It raises all sorts of possibilities."

"I thought you'd like that," she said, opening her eyes and looking up at him with an arched eyebrow.

"I also have a new appreciation for mirrors," he said cheekily.

"You're filthy," she said, laughing freely. "Enjoying watching us fuck. Honestly, Matthew."

"I wasn't the only one," he said pointedly.

She blushed and grinned as she looked away. "Well, we did look quite hot."

"We did, indeed," he said, glancing upwards. "Perhaps we should consider a mirror on the ceiling?"

"You're absolutely insatiable," she huffed, slapping his chest lightly.

He laughed and hugged her close.

"I think we are going to be quite happy in our new home. What about you?" he asked, smiling at her.

"Well, if tonight is any indication," she teased. "I can only hope that you're still happy with me when I'm unable to meet your voracious needs."

He frowned at that. "And why would you ever be unable to do that?" he asked.

"Darling, be realistic," she said patiently. "Once we start having a family, everything will change. You won't want anything to do with me when I'm as big as a barn, and eventually all of my youthful beauty will fade with motherhood and such. We'll be more companions than lovers."

His mouth fell open in shock. Shaking his head in consternation, he smirked at her, then rolled her over on to her back, leaning over her and glaring at her with a fierce glance that was both covetous and confident.

"Now you listen to me," he said firmly, kissing her lips. "There will never, ever, come a day where I do not love you, or want you, just as fully and completely as I do now. God, Mary, you honestly believe that the only reason I enjoy making love to you is because of your looks? It's all of you that I want. And I'll have you know that, from what I have read, women can become quite ravenous during pregnancy, and I am very much looking forward to experiencing that with you."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, laughing wryly as he kissed her neck and caressed her breast.

"That's what you think about when it comes to having a child? How big my breasts may get?" she joked.

"That isn't the only thing I think about, no," he replied, kissing her again. "But it is potentially one of the benefits, yes."

"And what about when I'm huge?" she retorted. "There will be none of the acrobatics that you enjoy so much."

"Acrobatics, hardly," he scoffed. "Given how tall you are, I doubt you will ever be huge, as you put it, and even if you are, there are plenty of creative ways and positions that we can still use. Don't think a pregnancy will put me off you, darling, because it most certainly will not."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," she noted, smiling as they kissed lightly.

"If you think I'm going nine months without making love to my wife, you're mad," he said.

"Well, I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," she said, smiling at him.

"Mary, surely you must know," he said seriously. "All those times when we were younger that I would think of you, dream of being with you, it wasn't for the sex, or my own ego, or even to get back at you for making fun of me. I came to London because I wanted a life with you, with all the good and the bad, all the ups and downs. I always wanted to be the one to share all of that with you, and now that we are, I…I've never been happier."

She blinked and pursed her lips, a wave of tears threatening to spring forth. She reached up and touched his face.

"Oh, my darling," she whispered. "Me too. Me too."

They kissed again, then snuggled together as they normally did, with her nestled into the crook of his arm and chest. Eventually they fell asleep together, in their bed, in their house, the world outside being made to wait until they were good and ready to deal with it.

* * *

 _"True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table; luckiest is he who knows just when to rise and go home." – John Milton Hay_

* * *

 **fin**


End file.
